


Save the birds, save the bees

by thetimesinbetween



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: (No rape or history of rape), Alpha Emily Black Favreau, Alpha Hanna Koch Vietor, Alpha Jon Lovett, Alpha Ronan Farrow, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Jon Favreau, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, No pregnancy or mention of pregnancy, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Tommy Vietor, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Trauma, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetimesinbetween/pseuds/thetimesinbetween
Summary: For the past twenty years, Tommy has been medically suppressing his heats. But when Hanna goes out of town, his hormones go haywire and his suppressants fail.Jon, Emily, Lovett, and Ronan are more than happy to help—if Tommy can learn to let them.
Relationships: Emily Black Favreau/Jon Favreau, Emily Black Favreau/Tommy Vietor, Hanna Koch Vietor/Tommy Vietor, Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett, Jon Favreau/Tommy Vietor, Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor, Ronan Farrow/Emily Black Favreau/Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett/Hanna Koch Vietor/Tommy Vietor, Ronan Farrow/Jon Lovett, Ronan Farrow/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 274
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have, somehow, been writing this fic since April 2018. There's lots more to come. 
> 
> This is RPF, so please be thoughtful about how and where you share it. Definitely do not share it with anyone connected to Crooked. Thank you! 
> 
> This is a nontraditional ABO verse. If you want specifics, check the end notes!

On Friday night, Tommy drops Hanna off at LAX. 

By the following Monday, he feels like absolute shit. 

He painstakingly keeps up all his usual routines. 

  * He gets up and takes Lucca on a walk every morning.
  * He goes to Barry’s Bootcamp before work on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
  * He arrives at Crooked HQ at the same time as always—which is to say, about thirty minutes before Jon and about an hour and a half before Lovett. 
  * He lifts after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. 
  * He does the same bedtime routine at the same time every night, even if he doesn’t actually fall asleep for another three hours after that. It’s starting to feel like pantomime, but who is he to defy science. 
  * He doesn’t look at Twitter between the hours of 1 a.m. and 5 a.m., which sounds like it wouldn’t need to be a rule but does. 

He’s done depression before. He’s in the middle of building a goddamn media empire and does not have time to do depression again right now. 

Tommy white-knuckles it for a week and a half. 

Then, on the thirteenth day, he stands up in the recording studio and almost passes out. 

“Whoa,” comes Lovett’s voice from a long way off. Tommy can’t see and he feels like his feet and his head are in two different states. Gravity seems to be to his left somewhere. 

Two firm hands grip his elbows and guide him back into his chair. 

He sits. He puts his head between his knees, which makes the spinning even worse. He throws up into a well-placed trash can. Lovett must have left the room—Tommy can’t smell him. Jon is crouching down in front of Tommy, at his feet, where Tommy’s vision is starting to clear. Jon smells steady, familiar, even though his eyes are worried. He holds out his water bottle and Tommy, shakily, accepts. 

“No straws,” Lovett complains, coming back through the doorway. He’s holding Tommy’s bag. “Who decided that we were going to lead the charge on giving up straws? Didn’t the disability community decide that was bullshit? Couldn’t we at least keep one around in case our resident Victorian lady has a fainting spell?”

Jon heaves an impressive Favreau Sigh in response, and runs a soothing hand down Tommy’s back. “Hey, you all right?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy manages. He can definitely see again. Standing doesn’t seem like a good idea, though. “We never had straws in the first place,” he croaks. Lovett scoffs. “Water again?” Tommy adds.

“Yeah,” Jon says, and holds the bottle for him this time. “Satisfied?” he says in Lovett’s direction. 

“I won’t be satisfied until Tommy has normal blood pressure and there is a straw within reach at all times,” Lovett replies, still hovering near the door.

“Those seem like achievable goals. Right, Tom?” 

“Yep,” Tommy says. 

“Okay buddy, should we call the paramedics?” Jon asks.

“What?” Tommy sits up and tries to ignore the dizzy echo of the movement that ricochets through his skull. “No.” 

“Super convincing,” Lovett says. “Put this man right back to work in the—garment factory. The _coal mines_. I don’t know, what did WASPs do for work before podcasting?” 

“Am I a Victorian lady or a coal miner?” Tommy asks.

“Put this man back to work in the—in the _fields_.” 

Jon laughs and sits back on his heels, out of Tommy’s space. “Okay. If you can sit up and follow Lovett’s questionable logic—”

“—my _unassailable _logic—” 

“—then I think we can just drive you to urgent care ourselves,” Jon finishes. 

“Or I could go back to work?” Tommy replies. He’s feeling pretty shitty, but not drastically different than he has since Hanna went out of town. Dizzy, but in a distant and reasonable way. Tired. Heavy. Like death warmed over, except that it’s his everyday life. 

It occurs to Tommy that he should maybe go back to therapy temporarily. 

“Nope,” Jon replies. “Go start my car, Lovett.” 

“Am I your chauffeur now?” Lovett calls, but he’s already gathering up Jon’s keys and all Tommy’s stuff and hustling out the door. 

“Up we go,” says Jon, cheerfully. 

“Not a toddler,” Tommy sighs, but slings his arm over Jon’s shoulder anyway. He’s a little shaky standing up, but leaning into Jon’s side helps steady him, and they slowly make their way out to the car. 

“Why aren’t you back toiling in the fields, Tommy?” Lovett asks, but he opens the passenger door for them and makes sure the A/C and sun visor are placed exactly to Tommy’s liking before slamming it shut, so all in all an empty threat.

Tommy lets his head fall back as Jon and Lovett tussle over the best route to the clinic. 

It’s going to be a long couple weeks. 

* * * 

Tommy appreciates that Hanna brought it up months in advance: The Big Trip. 

She and her parents have been planning to take a long vacation together for what, she explains, feels like half her life. Tommy remembers her talking about it back when they were first dating. At first, it was supposed to be right after Hanna graduated college. Then it was going to be right after her dad retired. It kept not working out, and not working out—jobs, illnesses—but this time it’s real. 

Hanna’s parents, who have always been outdoorsy, have blocked out four months for hiking, meditation, beach-ing, and birdwatching through Southeast Asia. 

Hanna, who is outdoorsy enough in her own right, doesn't go quite that far. But she does pile up all her vacation and personal days for the year and tell her manager, in no uncertain terms, that she’s taking a full month. No remote desktop. No calling in. 

Hell—no cell service at all, most of the places she’s visiting. The beach at Blanche Bay, Kokopo doesn’t exactly lend itself to 5G.

Tommy is honestly excited for her, and quietly jealous that she gets to do something like this with her dad—with both her parents, together, healthy and whole. But he’s mostly glad, really. He processes the inconvenient jealousy over the course of several phone calls with Taylor, and then sends his sister multiple rounds of Shari’s Berries in gratitude. 

Tommy blocks out the dates on their shared Google calendar. He makes lots of plans with friends and books an ambitious set of PSTW interviews. He and Hanna talk about how this will affect the rest of their vacation time for the year. They review every possible aspect of puppy care. Tommy secretly plans to teach Lucca some cool tricks while Hanna is gone, and have a little show ready for her when she comes back.

“Big question,” Tommy says one evening, a few days before Hanna’s flight. He’s scraping grit off their wok, and Hanna is separating all the Blue Apron packaging into the appropriate recycling piles, fending off Lucca, who is convinced that anything involving moderately loud noises is a game designed just for her. 

“Mmm?” Hanna replies, finally tossing the emptied box to Lucca, who attacks it with gusto. 

“Can I watch Game of Thrones without you?” he asks. 

Hanna laughs. “Yes, babe,” she says. “You’d have to quarantine yourself otherwise.” 

“What about The Bachelor?” he asks. 

She laughs harder and abandons the styrofoam. “I fucking knew you were invested,” she says. She pushes at him a couple times, lightly, until he turns away from the sink and slings his elbows over her shoulders, letting his soapy hands drip on the floor. 

“I’m invested,” he says, and kisses her once. She smells so good that he feels a little lightheaded until he pulls back and catches the neutral scent of the dish soap again. 

“Wait for me,” she replies, laughing against his mouth when he groans. “We’ll warn Em and Jon to keep their Bachelor theories to themselves.” 

“I’ll have to stay out of the Slack channel too,” Tommy points out, but Hanna just snorts and shakes her head. “But—if you insist,” he adds. Hanna nuzzles into his throat, which makes him go pleasantly warm all over. Lucca jumps on their legs, yipping for attention. 

“I do insist,” Hanna says, smiling, and rakes a possessive hand through his hair. Then she turns to Lucca with a mock-stern frown. 

As Hanna’s flight out approaches, Tommy feels prepared. He’s going to miss her a lot, sure, but this is important to her, and she’s been talking about it for years. It’s going to be great. 

* * * 

Tommy has been sitting on paper for the better part of three hours while the clinic ran tests on his pee, spit, mucus, and blood. The paper makes crinkly sounds every time he moves. Maybe he should have had Jon or Lovett stay with him just to stave off the boredom, instead of sending them both away after he was checked in. 

“Tommy?” the nurse practitioner, Saanvi, asks. “Do you have questions?” 

“So many,” Tommy responds, focusing up. “I’m sorry—can you walk me through it in detail?” 

“Of course,” she replies, calm and warm. “Do you have a family member or partner waiting? It can be helpful to have a second set of ears.” 

Jon and Lovett are at Crooked HQ across town, and Hanna is on the Solomon Islands across the world.

“No,” he replies, after an awkward beat. “I mean, my wife is—it’s fine, I’ve got it, just—” He pulls up the Notes app on his phone. “—just walk me through it.” 

The note he ends up with is less coherent than he could have gotten away with in an NSC briefing, but—good news—it’s not national security. It’s just his own damn health. The note goes something like this: 

“west hollywood urgent care clinic, nurse practitioner Saanvi

  * major life changes can fuck with Rx + long-term use of same heat suppressants can reduce efficacy as the body acclimates 
  * today = breakthrough pain/reaction?
  * need to shift to different class of suppressants, can’t just adjust current Rx
  * have to detox AND go thru 1–2 full heat cycles minimum before starting new Rx
  * must begin drawdown of suppressants asap. call referral: Dr. Asfour ASAP, should get appt soon if i send bloodwork over & explain urgency
  * shit shit shit shit 
  * heat can be partnered or unpartnered, though exposure to alpha pheromones can help 
  * heat will be different than usual 
  * return to clinic if, outside of heat: more dizzy spells, elevated heart rate, discolored urine, fever/chills”

Tommy leaves the clinic room in a daze. Luckily, Tommy in a daze is an efficient Tommy. He checks out with the front desk people. Yes, he has his insurance card with him. Yes, he has his HSA card ready. 

He calls Dr. Asfour from the clinic lobby, uses his much diminished spokesperson skills combined with the fact that he is an Omega in medical distress, and manages to get in later the same afternoon. He doesn’t even go home, he just takes a Lyft straight from the clinic to her office. 

Dr. Asfour proceeds to confirm everything Saanvi told him. She gives him a detailed detox plan and a phone number for a heat breakthrough doula. 

Tommy nods. He takes notes. Checkout. Insurance card. HSA card. Rideshare request. 

While he’s in the Lyft, a text from Jon comes through—he dropped Lucca off at Tommy’s place, and was surprised Tommy himself wasn’t home yet. _Are you okay?_ the newest text says. As Tommy watches, a green sickness emoji pops up. Tommy doesn’t reply. 

He’s ready to collapse and honestly much closer to tears than he generally likes to be in public when the Lyft slows, pulls over to a curb. 

“This it?” the driver asks, doubtfully. 

Tommy opens his eyes. He looks outside. Looks at his phone. 

Apparently, he’d told the Lyft to go Crooked HQ. Which looks like a dark office building, because it is a dark office building, because it’s 7 p.m. and no one lives here.

“Yep,” Tommy says. “Thanks, man.” 

He gets out, lets himself in to HQ, locks the door behind him, sits down on the floor, and cries. 

* * * 

Tommy read somewhere that tears are a way for the body to dump stress hormones and help reestablish homeostasis. So it makes sense that, after ten minutes of sobbing, he feels so hollowed-out he’s almost numb. 

Sitting on the office floor, he calls Hanna, even though he knows she has no cell reception and won’t for days. He doesn’t leave a voicemail. He’s sure he sounds terrible and doesn't want to freak her out when she’s too far away to help. 

He texts her instead: _Everyone is alive and well, but please call me as soon as you see this. Love you. _

He breathes for a little while, until he’s feeling evened out enough to drive. If he’s here, he might as well take his car home, rather than leaving it at the lot overnight. 

At home, Lucca goes absolutely bonkers at the sight of him. He cracks a smile when she starts zooming around him, but within seconds the glow fades, leaving him with the guilty sense he should’ve been home to meet her in the first place. Lucca doesn’t deserve a distracted, sick dad. Lucca needs him to be reliable, to be consistent—even more so when Hanna is out of town. 

He takes her on an extra long walk to make up for it, all the way to her favorite rock to pee on, which is usually a special weekend treat. He’s feeling lightheaded again by the end of it. 

Back at home, as he automatically spoons her wet food into a bowl, he realizes that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. 

With Lucca munching away at his feet, he diligently works through leftover Blue Apron lemon dijon chicken, and forces down some greens that look like they’re on their last legs. 

He still feels awful. Two spoonfuls of peanut butter do absolutely nothing to soothe him. He lets Lucca lick the spoon clean.

Hours earlier than usual, he gives up and goes to bed. Under the covers, holding Hanna’s pillow against his chest (or really, to his nose), he dispassionately scrolls through Amazon’s Heat Starter Pack Basics list and puts a few things in his basket. 

He doesn’t buy anything. Not yet. 

He calls Hanna again. No answer, of course. 

If Hanna were here, maybe this would all feel more real. They’d laugh about how ridiculous human biology is. She’d stroke his hair. She’d ask him how he wanted to do this. He’d be able to smell the desire on her, and hear in her voice that she would accept any answer. 

He’d be able to ask her to stay, to take care of him, even though it would be terrifying. He’d be able to tell her how terrifying it was. 

But she’s not here now, and she’s not going to get here in time. 

He needs more than an Amazon order. He needs to read up on what is going on with his body, physiologically. He needs to research the other classes of suppressants—apparently he needs to switch classes, and he’s only ever been on the one type. He needs to remember which of his friends are Omegas—none of his close friends are, that he does know—but surely some of his less close ones—and anyway, then he’ll narrow that group down to a couple nonjudgmental people, and then he’ll set a time to talk with them about what to expect.

He needs a plan. 

As he stares at his sad Amazon cart, a new text pops up: 

> _Jon Favreau: How’re you doing? _

Tommy reluctantly taps through his various notifications. He’s missed two calls from Lovett and one from Emily. Jon has been checking in periodically all afternoon.

> _Jon Favreau: Let us know if you want us to come back to the clinic. _
> 
> _Jon Favreau: It’s nbd. There’s nothing this afternoon that can’t wait. Lo texted Elisa & rescheduled the CC release planning mtg while I was driving _
> 
> _Jon Favreau: You ok to take a Lyft? We can come pick you up_
> 
> _Jon Favreau: Hey I came by to drop Lucca off but obvs you aren’t home. _
> 
> _Jon Favreau: Are you okay? _
> 
> _Jon Favreau: Not trying to be obnoxious but can you give me a sign of life? Love you man._
> 
> _Jon Favreau: How’re you doing? _

Tommy, feeling guilt sink like a stone in his stomach, texts back, 

> _Tommy: Sorry, I’m okay, see you tomorrow._

Jon replies immediately, 

> _Jon Favreau: Thx, see you in the morning._

Okay. He needs to rest now, so he can be really efficient at work tomorrow and the next day and the next day, so in a few days or a week he can take the loneliest possible heat leave. 

He closes his eyes. He rolls over. Across the room on her designated pillow, Lucca twitches and then lets out a soft snore. Tommy opens his eyes again and stares at the ceiling. 

Maybe he can stretch his current prescription just a little longer—which Dr. Asfour specifically told him not to do—and somehow hold this breakthrough heat at bay until Hanna gets back to town in two and a half weeks. 

No. It’s stupid to even think about that. He knows it won’t work. He can’t be that Omega who talks himself into some dumb plan and ends up going through half a heat in an isolation room at urgent care.

Fuck. 

It’s been years since he’s had a heat. No, not years—_decades_. He was sixteen during his last one. 

Katie had tried, briefly, to talk him into letting up on his—admittedly pretty intense—suppressant regimen. 

He hasn’t thought about that in ages. 

_It’s a little extreme, isn’t it?_—she’d asked, gently. 

_You never want to have a heat as an adult? You don’t want to ever share that with a trusted partner?_—she’d asked, less gently. 

He’d never done it. He hadn’t wanted to go through a heat with her. Maybe he should have. Maybe, if he’d chosen to change things up back then, he wouldn’t be forced to do this alone now. 

God. Everything about this feels like it’s from another life. 

Tommy was one of a couple dozen Omegas who’d served in the Obama White House, which had better O representation than any administration prior. He was the very first Omega to serve the National Security Council in any capacity. 

Suppressants had made it possible. He’d known it at the time, and he still believes it now.

He’d had his first heat when he was fifteen—a weak one, like all first heats. It was longer than most Omegas’ first go-round, nothing too unusual. A little scary, a little overwhelming, but mostly like any other step toward adulthood. Like going to his first day of high school, or learning to drive, or going on his first date.

Most O’s bodies take several tries to really get into the swing of things. Tommy expected to have several weak heats, ramping up over the course of months or years depending on his particular cycle, and then start having full heats when he was nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. 

But that wasn’t how it went, not for Tommy. He had his second heat at sixteen, and it was catastrophically strong. 

It was a full heat. It had gone on so long that his parents had called a family friend—a retired doctor, an Omega in his seventies—to make sure nothing was wrong. Once it was finally over, they’d had to pay for a tutor to catch Tommy to catch up on the week and a half of school he’d missed. 

Tommy barely remembers the heat itself. It was so long ago, and he’d been in such a desperate haze the entire time. He’d known what heat was, of course, but he hadn’t had any real, experiential context for what was happening. He hadn’t had a partner to help him. Nobody had known when it would end, not even the doctor. He’d been in his room with a few toys he hadn’t picked out and a heating pad that belonged to his sister, desperate, for almost two weeks. 

He doesn’t like to think about it. 

More than the heat itself, he remembers what happened before, and what happened after. 

Before: coming home from school, already in pre-heat, not knowing it. His sister laughing and telling him he smelled. Covered in hickeys from a newly presented Alpha who’d liked his scent—who’d never given Tommy another look after he went on suppressants that neutralized his O scent. His parents’ worried looks, even then. 

After: His parents’ concerned, shocked—almost horrified—expressions, now that they’d realized just _how_ Omega he was, just how extreme his heats were going to be, how disruptive they were going to be for the whole family, how hard his life would be as an adult, how hard he’d have to work to be taken seriously in his career with a heat cycle this intense. 

His parents had gently suggested talking to a doctor about suppressants, which were perfectly normal, especially for an unpartnered young Omega like sixteen-year-old Tommy. 

They’d never pressured him. He’d done his own research. He might have been a little shit as a sixteen-year-old, but he’d been a diligent little shit. He’d talked to his regular doctor, and then he’d talked to two more doctors to make sure he was getting good advice. 

Then he’d gone on the strongest O suppressant regime considered safe by the FDA. 

He didn’t just lessen the frequency and intensity of his heats, the way many Omegas did. 

He wiped his heats out entirely. 

Then and now, his pheromone cycle looks more like a Beta’s than an Omega’s. It’s hard to even scent O on him, unless he’s turned on enough to be wet. People who don’t know him well usually assume he’s a Beta. In fact, every partner he’s had since since age sixteen has found out he’s an Omega either (a) by googling him and reading that he was the first Omega ever on the NSC staff or (b) by Tommy himself telling them his designation, usually right before they fucked for the first time. 

That was how Hanna had found out, way back when. They’d gone out for a few weeks before having sex. The first time, they’d gone back to her place, to her bedroom. Hanna suppressed her Alpha rut cycle and her scent, too—not as brutally as Tommy did, but more than most people. So the shared rooms in Hanna and Emily’s apartment mostly smelled like Emily, also an Alpha. 

But Hanna’s bedroom smelled like Hanna—so much so that Tommy’s eyes had just about rolled back in his head. 

He _loved_ her scent. He got wet before she even touched him. He laid down on the bed, helplessly rolled around in her scent, pulled her down on top of him. They kissed until he started—well, _whining_, pulling at her, wanting her closer. She bit his bottom lip, unzipped his pants, and slid her clever hand over the swell of his cock. And then, behind, to where his cunt was hot and open and dripping wet for her. 

When she caught his scent, she was surprised—he remembers her face, and the way she ground her clit down against the muscle of his thigh—but not fazed. He’d meant to talk to her first, at least mention his designation to her, before they got quite this far. He hadn’t communicated well, hadn’t communicated at all, just kind of clamped down with his thighs to keep her there, right there where he needed her— 

She slid two and then three and then four fingers into him until he was gasping into her mouth. She brought him off with about two tugs on his cock. 

He wanted her to fuck him, then, but he was too nervous to ask. He didn’t want to seem needy. It seems silly now—Hanna has never judged a single thing he’s asked for, even if it wasn’t her cup of tea, and he’s never judged her either. But he hadn’t known that, then. The first time, he brought her off with his mouth instead—sucking her clit, licking into her cunt, getting her scent all over himself until he was out of his head with it. She came with a moan, clutching his face to her, and rather than taking some time to catch her breath, or cleaning up, she pulled him right on top of her, and held him and held him and _held_ him—

He remembers that most of all. 

Tommy’s phone with its sad Amazon cart has gone dark in his hand. He’s wet—too wet, _fuck_ these useless suppressants—and he’s grinding into the bed, clutching Hanna’s pillow to his face. It barely even smells like her anymore. 

_Fuck_, he thinks. 

_Fuck_. 

* * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :)
> 
> \--
> 
> If you're completely unfamiliar with ABO, it may be worth a google. (Or you can just roll with the punches, like I did when I first came across ABO! You'll catch on.)
> 
> If you are familiar with ABO, you may be wondering what I mean by "nontraditional ABO." Mostly it's this: All characters, regardless of gender or Alpha/Beta/Omega designation, have more or less the same body parts. Everyone has a dick or similar! Everyone has a vagina!
> 
> If you want the full TED talk, hit me up. I am always happy to talk about queering ABO.


	2. Chapter 2

He sleeps for twelve hours, which is a minor miracle. 

He takes Lucca on a short morning walk, like usual. She’s her same happy self. 

It seems impossible to have a clear head about any of this without talking to Hanna. He calls her, but of course it doesn’t go through. So he takes about 35 pictures of Lucca and texts them all to her. Texts probably won’t actually go through to her phone until she gets to the airport to start her journey back to the U.S., weeks from now, but still.

His stomach feels awful. He eats plain graham crackers and drinks a glass of water. As instructed, he takes only a half-dose of suppressants. 

He’ll have two more days of half-doses, two days of quarter-doses, and then he’ll go off entirely. He could have any number of awful side effects for days or weeks. He could go into heat...pretty much now, since the prescription he’s weaning himself off already has reduced efficacy. But Dr. Asfour told him to expect to have low energy and increased sensitivity to touch and smell for up to a week before getting a full heat breakthrough. 

Tommy will do proper, non-crying research on nesting supplies and toys and all that tonight. He’ll talk to people. He’ll make a plan. He’ll overnight himself supplies. Tonight. On his own time. Over a VPN. 

First, he has to get through a day at the office. 

* * * 

He arrives at Crooked HQ at 9:00 a.m. on the dot. 

Routines are important. Routines are structures used to make sense of an inexorable passage of time. Routines bring order out of chaos. 

He can adhere to a routine, even if his stupid body doesn’t want to cooperate.

He’s settling Lucca in and waiting for his laptop to wake up when Tanya calls a “Hello!” from the elevator. 

“Hey,” he calls back. 

Instead of setting up at her desk, she comes into the founders’ office, resting her hip against the glass doorway. “Everything okay? They really hustled you out of here yesterday.” 

In the midst of everything, Tommy hadn’t really registered that all of Crooked Media’s employees either watched the whole almost-fainting ordeal or heard about it shortly thereafter. 

There will probably be new office-specific memes and Slack reaction images based on this incident by lunchtime. Tommy can already feel it. He feels his eyelid twitch.

“Yeah,” Tommy says, after a slight pause. He ticks his password in before looking up. “Yeah, apparently some hormonal stuff got out of whack, but I’m good.” 

If you’d asked him five minutes ago, Tommy would have said he’s never really thought about it, but he’d guess that Tanya’s a Beta. But the way she’s looking at him now—careful, gentle, like she’s keyed into the delicate ways A’s and O’s tend to talk around rut and heat in mixed company—he’s not so sure. 

She also—huh. Actually, now that Tommy is paying attention, he can smell her. His nose is more sensitive than usual, but still, she must suppress her scent, because he’s never really clocked it before. She’s definitely A, which means she’s not going to fall for a euphemism. 

Tommy just gave away the game. He blushes, feeling caught out and embarrassed. 

The idea that he would keep this whole thing private seems, immediately, misguided in the extreme. Tanya’s quick as a whip; it’s half the reason they hired her. If everything Saanvi and Dr. Asfour said is true, and he really is about to go through his first heat in twenty years—well, it’s not as though he’s going to pull one over on the staff. He’s going to be out for days with barely any warning, and he’s going to come back smelling crazy because he’ll have to wait out at least one more cycle before he can even try a new class of suppressants. 

He’s exhausted just thinking about it.

Well, at least Tommy’s one hundred percent sure that Tanya is disinclined to talk about designation—otherwise he’d have known hers before today. Tanya’s total disinterest in that stuff is one of the things they have in common, actually. He’s always quietly liked that about her. 

“I’m glad,” she finally says. “Well, let me know if you need anything.” 

“‘Course,” he says. “Thanks, Tanya.” 

The morning rolls on. The rest of the staff trickles in, at first in ones and twos, and then in a big rush at 9:30, rounded out by Jon, who swans in with a Dunkin’ cup in each hand. 

“Morning,” Tommy says, glancing up from his screen. “Sorry about going AWOL.”

Jon hands him a coffee just as Leo sprints into the room and bowls Lucca over. He and Jon both suck in air through their teeth, but she bounces right back up. 

The dogs’ zoomies begin. Jon rolls his eyes and turns back to Tommy. “Thought I’d bring you a pick-me up,” he says.

“Thanks, man,” Tommy replies. He always likes having Jon around, but right now it feels almost _too_ nice to have him within arm’s reach. It’s like, no matter what, no matter how shitty he feels, Tommy’s got backup. Like they’re on the same team. Jon smells so—even. Steady.

“So what happened yesterday?” Jon continues. He takes a couple steps over to his own workspace and unpacks his bag methodically, then empties his pockets on the desk with a clatter. 

Tommy doesn’t answer. He definitely has to tell Jon what’s going on, but…. 

“Tom?” Jon comes back over. “Really. Is it bad? Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy finally says. “Yeah, I’m fine, it’s nothing like that. Look, can we talk about it once Lovett gets here? I’d rather not run through it twice.” 

Jon bites his lips. “Sure,” he replies, and then he comes closer still, squeezing Tommy’s arm. Tommy resists the urge to lean into him. “Whatever it is, listen, we’re here for you.” 

Tommy cracks a smile and intends to joke around, but ends up just looking up into Jon’s earnest face and saying, “Thank you.”

Lovett arrives at 10:15, carrying half his life as well as Pundit, per usual. He doesn’t even approach his desk, collapsing on the founders’ office couch instead with a huff. 

“Tommy, you’ve returned from the garment factory!” Lovett says. He’s digging around in his backpack. Pundit scrambles out of his arms. “If you hadn’t come in today, Jon and Emily and I were going to break into your home, like thieves. We planned it all last night. If you had installed SimpliSafe, of course, this wouldn’t have been an option. But here we are.” 

Finally he looks up from unpacking to find Jon giving him very strong _no!_ eyes. 

“Did you check your texts at any point today, Lovett?” Jon asks.

“No, because—as I’ve explained before—I’m training all of you into calling me on the phone,” Lovett replies. 

Jon puts his face in his hands and heaves an impressive Favreau Sigh. “I should have just called,” he says, reemerging. “I was trying to be subtle, but—”

“But what? How is texting someone who doesn’t check their texts subtle?” Lovett tries to interrupt, but Jon talks right over him. 

“Tommy said he wanted to talk to us when you got in, so I tried to tell you to be a little...sensitive” he says. 

“Oh,” Lovett replies, freezing. “Shit. Tommy, are you okay?” 

“It’s fine,” Tommy replies. “Look, I was going to wait until you’d been here more than thirty seconds, but let’s just talk now. Can one of you shut the door?” 

Lovett shuts the door.

“So, I’m fine,” Tommy starts. He doesn’t actually feel fine. He feels—sad, pathetic, tired, and vaguely feverish. “I’m not going to die or anything. Relax.” 

“Auspicious beginning,” Lovett breaks in, nervously. Jon gives him a quelling look. 

“Can you come over here, Tom?” Jon says. He’s rolling his own desk chair over to where Lovett is ensconced on the couch. 

Tommy shoves Lovett’s backpack and duffel bag onto the floor and sits on the other end of the couch. 

“Okay. What’s going on?” Jon says. They’re both watching him closely.

Tommy sighs. “Basically, my suppressants are fucked,” he manages, and then isn’t sure how to continue. 

He glances up. Lovett looks surprised. Jon looks confused. 

“It boils down to, I’m going to need to take some days off pretty soon. I’m working on scheduling it all out. I don’t know if I’ll be in on Monday, but if I’m not, I’m sure you two can hold down the Monday pod. We should let Elijah know what to expect. I’m hoping Rhodes can take care of Pod Save the World next week, but I need to talk to him about it today. It does really throw off the next few weeks of—” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Lovett interjects. “We get it, you’re very responsible. You are an upstanding member of our corporate team. Thank you, business partner Tommy. Now can friend Tommy please back up? Your suppressants are _fucked_?” 

“Pretty much,” Tommy replies. He squeezes his hands together until his fingers look bloodless and white.

“So...what does that look like? They’re too hard on your kidneys? You’re having weird side effects all of a sudden?” Lovett continues. 

Jon raises his eyebrows. 

“Put your face away,” Lovett says, kicking at him. “Just because I’m an Alpha and Ronan’s an Alpha doesn’t mean I can’t know things about Omegas. You don’t know my life.” 

“Double negative,” Jon replies, a little haughtily. “But really, Tom, are your—kidneys okay, or whatever?” 

“My kidneys are fine,” Tommy says. 

They both wait for him to continue, which is unheard of. 

“My kidneys are fine; my liver is fine. My suppressants just...stopped working. I’ve been on the same ones for a long time, and my body acclimated to them. So. They aren’t doing what they’re supposed to do. The doctor told me I can’t just tweak the dosage. If I want to keep using suppressants, which I do, I have to switch to a completely different class,” Tommy says, quietly.

“Okay…,” Lovett prompts. 

“That’s the situation,” Tommy says. 

“So...your suppressants suck, you went to the doctor yesterday, they’re switching you to new ones.” Lovett says. “That seems pretty straightforward. Where does the whole thing where you have to take days off and you look like you spent the last twelve hours freaking the fuck out come in?” 

At this point, Tommy’s finely honed professional communications skills inform him that he’s going to have to bite the bullet. 

“Heat,” Tommy says. “I’m going to have a heat. Soon.” He looks at their hands instead of their faces. “I have to taper down from my suppressants and then let them clear my system before I can even try out a new prescription. So I’m going to have one heat soon, and then I’m probably going to have at least one more after that before I can stop having them again.” 

“Before you can...stop having them?” Lovett says. 

“Yeah,” Tommy replies. “I mean, obviously I don’t really do heats.” 

“But you’re…” Jon trails off, looking thoughtful. “Huh.” 

Tommy had assumed that they already knew this. 

“Wait, you don’t have _any_ heats _at all_ right now?” Lovett asks. 

...Apparently they didn’t. 

“Right,” Tommy says. “Honestly, you’ve both lived and worked with me. I don’t get how this is a surprise.”

“I thought you just—you know—had short ones. Light, gentle, short ones. And not that often. Some people don’t have them that often. Like, a ten-hour heat, couple times a year, that sort of thing,” Lovett puzzles through. “Wait so, fuck, back up, are you about to have your _first heat_?” he asks.

“No, I’m about to have my—third. My second full one,” Tommy says, and then flushes hard. 

Fuck. _Fuck_. He needs to be an adult about this. It’s ridiculous to be embarrassed. He’s thirty-eight years old. This is a basic bodily function that most people have to deal with, one way or another. 

“_Shit_,” Jon and Lovett say at the same time. 

“Okay, so you need a plan,” Jon says. “When is Hanna back?” 

Tommy puts his face in his hands. “Two weeks.”

“No,” Jon interjects. “She’s not back til the week after next? I thought she was back next week.” 

“No,” Tommy says through his hands. “Not til Friday the 29th.”

“_Shit_,” Jon and Lovett say again. 

“Just checking here—you’re expecting to go into heat before then,” Lovett says, carefully. “Right?” 

“I’m trying not to think about it,” Tommy says. 

“And she can’t come back early?” Lovett asks. 

“I’m sure she would try, if I could get ahold of her,” Tommy replies. “No luck yet.” He pushes his fingers into his eye sockets until he sees lights, and then lifts his face out of his hands. “Today I need to get everything work-related delegated to somebody else or delayed out until I’m back. Then tonight I need to do research and make a—fucking overnight Amazon order full of dildos, I don’t fucking know. And then I’ll wait and see.” 

“Uh,” Lovett says, folding his legs up on the couch. “Tommy. Is your backup plan for if Hanna’s not back in time...a box of dildos?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Tommy groans. “Look, I’m not expecting it to be a fun dirty weekend. I’m expecting it to be roughly ten days of...not fun. There’s a reason I don’t do heats.” 

“Alone? Ten days?! Tommy. Far be it from me to make your medical decisions for you, but that doesn’t sound...good. _Safe_,” Lovett says.

“The doctor said Alpha pheromones would help,” Tommy concedes, “but she didn’t tell me I _have_ to find a heat partner for my health. And it’s not like Hanna and I are in an open relationship. So.” 

“Right,” Lovett says, slowly. He exchanges a look with Jon. “But, I mean. Even if the sexual part is you and some dildos, who’s going to make sure you eat? And hydrate? People are not usually very clear-headed during heat. Or rut.”

Tommy swallows. He hadn’t gotten that far. 

Dread grips his stomach like claws. 

“I’ve never had to deal with any of this—” Jon starts.

“That is _not_ true. You can play the innocent Beta all you like, but you have no _idea_ what Emily tells me about her ruts,” Lovett breaks in.

“—fuck off, Lovett—but anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I haven’t been through it myself, but I don’t know a single person who goes through heat or rut completely alone,” Jon finishes, now flushed up his neck and ears. 

“Yeah,” Lovett says. “I mean, some people do, designation and sexuality can interact in complex ways et cetera, go queers, but I hear it’s...rough. I don’t know anybody who’s chosen to do it more than once. Everyone I know who doesn’t want a partner involved at all just medically lessens or stops their cycle—like you, Tommy.”

“Great, guys,” Tommy bites out, bitter now, and scared. “So what’s your recommendation here? I’m supposed to unilaterally open up my marriage while my wife is out of town? Just—call up a heat doula, have a stranger fuck me, professionally? Hop on Tinder and see if some weird Alpha is up for getting me through my first heat in twenty years?” 

“I mean, first of all, Tinder is _not_ the place to—” Lovett starts, wrinkling his nose. 

“Tom—twenty _years_?” Jon breaks in.

Tommy groans and puts his face in his hands again. “I can’t fucking stand this,” he says. 

“I’m sorry. We can—we can stop talking about it,” Jon says. Lovett audibly strangles down a protest.

“No,” Tommy says through his hands. “No. It’s. I need to hear it.” 

“Yeah,” Jon says, after a moment. He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder briefly. 

“I’m pretty fucking freaked out right now,” Tommy says, looking back up. 

“Twenty years is a long time,” Jon says, carefully. 

“Yeah, well, my first full heat was a clusterfuck, didn’t feel the need to repeat it,” Tommy replies. 

“Were you—?” Lovett starts, hesitant. 

“Nothing like—I wasn’t assaulted,” Tommy replies, looking up. “I’m sorry. That was bad word choice. No—it wasn’t—I just.” He abruptly runs out of breath. He swallows hard. 

“What, Tom?” Jon asks. 

“I was alone,” Tommy says. “I mean, my family—you know, I didn’t get dehydrated or starve or anything. But I was sixteen, so I was alone in a room, and it went on for a long time. And it was really intense. Ten days, and I was just alone, and I was scared, and no one knew when it was going to end.” 

“_Shit_,” Lovett says. 

“Very delicate, Lo’,” Jon says, kicking him gently. 

“It was a heartfelt, direct reaction,” Lovett replies, kicking him back. “Really, though, Tommy. I get why you wouldn’t want to have a heat again, after that.” 

“Yeah,” Tommy replies. He honestly feels like he might cry, which would be the second time in two days, which is about a 2000% increase over the past several years of his life, which, now that he’s thinking about it in those terms, probably means it’s another pheromone thing, god _damn _it. 

“I’m going to ask you a question,” Lovett says. 

“Um, okay,” Tommy says. 

“Scarier to go through heat alone again, or scarier to go through heat with someone to help?” Lovett asks. Jon chews on his lip. 

“Both scary,” Tommy admits. 

“Yeah, I know that,” Lovett says. He reaches over and squeezes Tommy’s shoulder quickly, then tucks his hand back under his own thigh. 

“If the choice was alone or _Hanna_, I’d pick Hanna,” Tommy says. “I’ve never done—but—yeah, I know I’m safe with her.” 

“That makes sense,” Jon says, quietly. “Hey. I feel that way about Em, too.”

“But she’s—just checking, it is literally impossible to reach Hanna, right? Like, we can’t get her on the trusty ol’ satellite phone and recall her to the U.S. for an emergency?” Lovett asks. 

“Believe me—last night, I thought through every single way of contacting her, including just getting on a flight myself,” Tommy says. “I think that has a better chance of working than a phone call has of going through. I mean, I’m going to keep trying to text and call, but.”

“Oh my god, _please_ don’t fly,” Jon says. He looks pale just thinking about it. 

“Yeah, I decided that the possibility of going into heat on a transpacific flight was actually my worst nightmare,” Tommy sighs. Jon visibly shudders.

“Yeah,” Lovett says. Then, hesitantly, “Listen. Tommy. I can think of multiple people, a variety pack of people, people who you know, who would totally help you through a heat. Not strangers. It’s honestly—for A’s and O’s who _don’t_ suppress? Situations come up relatively often. The particulars of your situation are unique, but needing some help on short notice is not _that_ unusual.” 

Tommy stares at him, shocked. Lovett looks back at him, not deflecting anything.

“If you want to do this on your own,” Lovett continues, haltingly, “and that’s the best way for you to feel safe, then I’m not going to push it. Okay? But promise me that you’ll let me know if you want to talk about doing this with partners.” 

“Uh,” Favs says. He swallows audibly. 

“Did you just offer to fuck me for a week and a half?” Tommy blurts, and immediately blushes to his hairline. He can feel himself blushing down his chest, too, overwarm under his tee. 

Lovett rolls his eyes, but then he also rolls his shoulders, uncomfortable. “Ugh, straights. No, that’s _not_ what I said. I said that I know several people off the top of my head who would take you up on an offer, and if you want that, I can set you up right away. You can have help from somebody you know—who you like. It doesn’t have to be a stranger, professional or otherwise.”

Tommy nods, tightly. 

“But honestly,” Lovett continues, “and this information does _not_ leave this office—Ronan and I have gotten multiple friends through heats and ruts. We have done that...maybe five or six times over the past eight years. And if you wanted that, then sure. I don’t want to make shit weird for you, but I have done that for people I’m way less close with, compared to you. I would do that in a heartbeat before making you go through it alone. Okay?” 

Lovett is holding himself incredibly tightly, his arms twisted together across his chest. 

Tommy can literally feel the heat radiating off his face. He is, honestly, starting to get wet, which is too scary to be pleasant. “That’s...really a thing?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Lovett says. 

“I knew it was a thing, but I didn’t know it was a thing you did, Lovett,” Jon offers. 

Lovett squirms slightly, then stills. 

“I didn’t know,” Tommy says, haltingly. “At all.” 

“Well, you suppress so hard you don’t have heats and you smell like a Beta,” Lovett snaps. “So you can see where people might get the idea that you don’t want to be approached about heat-partnering or rut-partnering them.” 

“Yeah,” Tommy chokes out, instead of pushing back. His throat feels tight and closed. 

Jon winces and shoves himself into what little space there is on the couch. He wordlessly yanks Tommy into a side-hug. Lovett seems to realize that something has gone wrong. He scoots closer too, and squeezes Tommy’s shoulder again quickly. 

“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with that, Tommy,” Lovett says. “We’re all just trying to figure out what works for us. That’s one thing that works for some people. It sounds like, until your stupid meds failed, what you were doing was working really well for you.” 

Tommy’s throat still feels sticky. “Yeah,” he croaks. He leans into Jon. 

“I didn’t mean to freak you out,” Lovett says. “Or come onto you, for that matter. Just giving you options.” 

“No, it’s not that,” Tommy says. “I don’t feel like—I really—thank you. It’s actually good to know that that’s—a thing. I just—I don’t think I can talk about this any more right now.” 

“Okay,” Lovett says. “Let’s stop.” 

“We’ve got your back, Tom,” Jon says, and squeezes him one more time. Tommy leans into him this time, grateful. “Okay. Let me run the tentative Monday outline past you? And we’ll delegate your stuff, by which I mean we’ll give all of your work to Lovett?” 

Lovett, through a mouthful of Diet Coke, lets out a protesting groan. 

Tommy cracks a grin. 

* * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has no major archive warnings. If you want more specific, spoilery content warnings for this chapter, check the endnotes!

By 11:30 a.m., Tommy is restless. It’s an hour early for Lucca’s usual afternoon bathroom break, but he gets up anyway and walks her all the way around the block, to her utter delight. She’s panting up at him, and he’s taking an embarrassing number of pictures of her floppy pink tongue, when he hears someone inhale sharply, right next to him. 

Tommy looks up, startled. There’s a man, an Alpha, passing by. Tommy can smell him from feet away—gross. The man glances back at Tommy once, casually, and keeps walking, crossing the street without a care. 

Two minutes later, as he bags Lucca’s usual midday poop, a couple walking two dogs give him a big, simultaneous once-over.

Ridiculous. Tommy gets an appreciative glance once in a while, sure, but what’s all this about? Is this what it’s going to be like every day until he gets new suppressants?

No, he tells himself, don’t catastrophize. At most, he could run to the drugstore, get some shitty off-the-shelf scent-neutralizing spray, and—what, blanket himself in it in the Crooked bathroom? 

Isn’t that a little much? 

He shakes himself out of it, and jangles Lucca’s leash to get her nose away from what he suspects is another dog’s poop. 

It’s not a secret he’s an Omega. It’s fine if he smells like one, for once. It’s equally normal to keep one’s full scent, to minimize it, or to neutralize it entirely. He might get some attention he doesn’t want, but he doesn’t need to interrupt his work day to panic about it. It’s _fine_. 

He’s not going to get ahead of himself. He’s going to concentrate. He’s going to get through this work day. He’s going to finish making a plan to take time off. Then, tonight, after work, he’s going to do all the research he needs to do about heat and scent and everything else. 

He can deal with this. He just has to go one step at a time. 

Tommy walks calmly but directly back to the office. He puts in his earbuds before even getting off the elevator, and immediately zones in on his work rather than stopping to chat. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jon and Lovett exchange a look. He ignores it.

Tommy already recorded this week’s PSTW, and he’s about halfway through his research for next week’s episode. He’s not going to finish the reading today—who knows if it’ll get done at all, at this point. But if he can at least put together a full draft of his interview questions now, maybe someone else will be able to handle the actual conversation. 

He finishes tapping out questions, and flags a few more topics that he’ll need to at least skim the remaining reading to know how to approach properly. 

He should call up Ben now and ask him to handle the interview. Loop him in. Schedule everything out. Inform the guest.

But he feels awful—achy and too warm—and he doesn’t actually want to talk to Rhodes about his heat cycle, no matter how close they are these days. So instead he tugs out his earbuds and goes to refill his water bottle. 

“What’s good, Yanks,” he says at the water fountain, out of habit. 

“Hmmm,” Priyanka replies, finishing whatever she’s typing. She takes a deep breath, hits _enter_ with a flourish, and pushes her hair out of her face—and—and, um—

—Priyanka is an Alpha, which is information he has studiously not thought about over the course of multiple years of knowing Priyanka. Priyanka is an Alpha, who he really likes as a person, who doesn’t minimize or neutralize her scent, who might be in pre-rut right now? Is she in pre-rut or is his nose just incredibly sensitive? He’d noticed Tanya’s scent earlier, but Tanya suppresses; this is something else—

—He wants to bury his face in Priyanka’s hair, which is both embarrassing and _wildly inappropriate_—

She’s turning to him, casually, the same way she does every day. “Not much,” she replies, “Just trying to _wring some graphics out of Jamie_ for the newsletter.” She raises her voice slightly so Jamie can hear, and Jamie groans from the other end of the table, making Priyanka chuckle. “Glad you’re back in fighting shape today,” she continues, smiling up at Tommy.

“Um,” Tommy says. She smells _so_ good. He can’t think. He can literally feel himself turning red. His heart is hammering. His mouth says the words, “Okay, I actually just started feeling weird again and I’m going to go sit down.” 

He does an about-face and closes the glass door to the founders’ office behind him. 

Then he stops in his tracks

The whole room smells like Lovett. 

Tommy _loves_ Lovett’s scent. 

And that is _a thought he doesn’t usually have, god damn_ _it_. 

Jon and Lovett are both eating a late lunch in the office because they are overbearing friends. They hone in on him immediately.

Tommy’s frozen in place. Lovett’s scent is deep—earthy and wet, and a tiny bit sour. Tommy, who has personally seen Lovett liberally apply scent-minimizing spray to himself after a Barry’s workout about two thousand times, knows he shouldn’t be picking up on it, not from this far away, not like _this_. 

Tommy breathes in deeper, not able to help himself. God. Lovett’s scent reminds Tommy of every time he’s buried his face between someone’s thighs. Which is ludicrous. It’s _ludicrous_ to think that. 

Tommy may have always found Lovett’s scent really pleasant, sure, but he doesn’t _notice_ it any more than he _notices_ the really pleasant color scheme of his and Hanna’s living room. First of all, Lo’ doesn’t parade his scent. Second of all, Tommy’s completely used to it at this point. The last time he remembers _noticing_ it was years ago, and it was only because Lovett was literally in rut, and the only reason he smelled Lovett in rut in the first place is that they were living in the same apartment in D.C. 

His heart is going a mile a minute, and he can feel it beating—inside, in him, all the way up through his core. 

_Fuck_. 

This can’t just be the suppressants fading out. There’s no way that O’s who don’t suppress go about their lives feeling like this all the time. 

He still has his clothes on, thank god, so he can’t be _in heat_ yet, surely.

He can’t remember what pre-heat physically felt like, but this has to be it. _Fuck_. _Fuck. Fuck._

That wasn’t enough time. That wasn’t _nearly_ enough time. 

He doesn’t have even the beginnings of a plan for how to get through this. 

He’s been feeling awful for two weeks—why did he wait until he literally almost fainted to go to the doctor? Why didn’t he order everything he could possibly need, right away, last night, the _moment_ he knew this was coming? Why didn’t he stay the _fuck_ out of the office—where he not only _works_ but is also in a position of _power_ as a founder and manager?

“Okay, Tommy, sit down,” Jon is saying, gently. 

Tommy almost gasps when Jon takes him by the shoulder and guides him to the couch. He can feel the touch all the way down his spine. He and Jon are in one another’s space all day every day—it’s how they’ve always been—and it always feels good but it’s never felt like _that_. 

“Jon—” Tommy starts, and hears how his own voice is shaking, how his breath is coming in gasps. Jon is kneeling in front of him, now, holding on to Tommy’s forearm. 

“What do you need?” Lovett asks. Lovett, who barely ever touches Tommy, reaches over and takes him by the back of his neck. 

Oh god—_god_—

Lovett’s grip settles like a hot, smooth stone in Tommy’s gut. Tommy’s panting, but he can feel his own heart rate slowing to an even, hard _boom—boom—boom. _

“Breathe,” Lovett says. 

Tommy pants.

“Tommy?” Lovett says, quietly. 

“You smell—unbelievably good,” Tommy rasps. He can’t think about anything else. Lovett squeezes down on his neck. “So does—god, um—Priyanka.” 

“Okay, Tommy,” Lovett says. He glances at Jon. “That’s okay. What do you need?” 

“I must be in pre-heat,” Tommy finally manages. He’s still breathing fast, like he just came off a run. “I’m panicking.” 

“Okay,” Lovett says. 

“Get me out of here,” Tommy tries to say. It comes out more like a sob. “Please get me out of here.” 

“Okay, we’re getting you out of here,” Lovett says. He and Jon exchange another look. 

Jon squeezes Tommy’s forearm and then stands up and starts shoving their things into bags willy-nilly. He clips Leo’s leash on and then darts out the founders’ office door, looking for Pundit and Lucca. 

“Just breathe, Tommy,” Lovett reminds him. “Try to follow my breath. Panic attacks fucking suck, but I promise it will end, okay? Just breathe.”

“I’m trying,” Tommy manages to say. 

“Okay,” Lovett says. “You and me are old hands at this, huh? We are expert panickers. You’re doing great. It’s going to end, just breathe with me.” 

“Okay,” Tommy pants. 

“Is it okay that I’m touching you?” Lovett asks. 

“Please don’t leave me,” Tommy gasps, which is not what he meant to say. A wave of shame hits, almost like a physical blow. It throbs Tommy’s chest and seeps up into his head.

Lovett is unfazed. “Okay,” he says. “I’m staying right here. Jon and I are going to take you home, all right?” 

“No—no,” Tommy replies. 

“You don’t want us to take you home?” Lovett asks. 

“I can’t—” Tommy drops his face into his hands. Lovett lightens his grip on Tommy’s neck, almost like he’s going to pull away, and Tommy, terrified, reaches over to press Lovett’s hand back down. Lovett grips him properly, and scoots closer. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Tommy continues. “I need Hanna. I can’t be somewhere that smells like Hanna if she’s not—if she’s not—” 

He can’t say it. He swallows hard.

“Okay,” Lovett says. “That’s a good point, Tommy, okay. We won’t leave you. We won’t take you to your place. I’m glad you told me. Just breathe.” 

Tommy nods, and Jon comes back through the glass door at a jog with a doodle under each arm. Tommy’s heart skips a beat.

“What’s the plan?” Jon says, clipping Pundit and Lucca’s leashes on. 

“We’re not taking Tommy home. It smells like Hanna,” Lovett replies. 

“Shit,” Jon says. “Good point. In that case, let’s go to mine.” 

Tommy tries to breathe. If they’re at Jon’s place—how is this going to work? He’s just going to have a heat in Jon’s house? Get his heat scent all over Emily’s turf? Will Jon and Emily be there? Will Lovett? 

“Tommy, can you handle having a heat at my place?” Jon says. 

“Not sure I can handle—any of it,” Tommy gets out. “Maybe I should just—just—” 

Lovett moves even closer, so that his forearm is resting along Tommy’s spine, that hand gripping the back of his neck. His shin is pressed against Tommy’s outer thigh. Everywhere they’re touching feels liquid and warm. Even as Tommy—with horrifying timing, they are _in the office_—realizes he’s soaking wet, and possibly literally soaking through his pants onto their nice custom Burrow sofa, he feels a little calmer too.

“Listen,” Lovett says. “Tommy. You can do this however you want to do it. But please don’t make us drop you off in some—some hotel or urgent care facility, or whatever you’re thinking. It won’t smell like anyone you know, and you’ll hate it. Let’s all go to Jon’s place, or my place, and we’ll teamwork this out, okay? I think I can speak for both of us—we will sterilize toys and bring you juice and crackers for a week straight, Tommy, if that’s what you need. I don’t give a fuck. Don’t force yourself to do this alone.” 

Tommy is going to cry with both gratitude and terror. He curls into Lovett and buries his face in his shoulder. His scent, that close, is—dizzying.

“Tommy?” Lovett says. He loosens his grip on Tommy’s neck and scritches at the base of his skull. It feels good.

“Anything,” Jon says. “Anything. It’s okay. Just tell us.” 

Jon touches Tommy’s shoulder, gently. 

Tommy’s breathing is finally slowing down. 

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” Lovett says. 

“The idea of doing this alone—” Tommy can’t even put it into words. “So. If it’s really okay. Then let’s go to Jon’s place,” Tommy says. 

“Okay,” Jon says. He picks up all three of their hastily packed bags, and all three dog leashes, looking like an extraordinarily handsome, extraordinarily overworked corporate dogwalker. Tommy almost cracks a smile. “Got all this,” Jon says. “You handle Tommy, Lovett.” 

“What kind of traditionalist nonsense,” Lovett gripes automatically, but he tugs Tommy up and slings Tommy’s arm over his shoulder. He must get a face full of Tommy’s scent in the process, because he pauses and closes his eyes, briefly, before getting a good grip on Tommy’s waist. “Ready?” he says.

Tommy delicately reaches down and adjusts himself—he’s not only soaking wet, but also completely hard in his slacks. Lovett politely looks away. He gets out his phone, even. Tommy doesn’t know how the hell Lovett can text at a time like this, but that’s what’s happening. 

Tommy doesn’t want to stop touching himself. He wants to just—grip his cock, feel the heat of his palm, rip his pants off, take care of this right here. Ask _Lovett_ to take care of this right here. 

He lets go of himself, so embarrassed that he considers the pros and cons of sinking into the floor.

“Ready?” Lovett asks again, like nothing had happened.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. 

“Because you’re probably going to get another whiff of Priyanka as soon as we go through that door, and I need you to not jump our employee,” Lovett continues.

“Please don’t joke about that, I’m horrified enough about it,” Tommy says. 

“Not joking, really checking in,” Lovett says. He squeezes Tommy’s waist a little.

“I’m, uh. Pretty locked in on your scent right now, Lo’,” Tommy says. 

He’s sweating and fucking gushing through his boxer-briefs about it, is what he is. 

Lovett’s eyes flash. “Okay. Let’s go.” He keeps a solid grip on Tommy’s waist. Jon looks up from his phone and holds the glass door open for them. 

Tommy does get a solid whiff of Priyanka’s scent when they go through the door. It’s extremely appealing, and also fine. All he has to do is turn his head toward Lovett and inhale, hopefully subtly. 

The subtlety ship has probably sailed. Being rushed out of the office smelling like crazy pheromones two days in a row is just—not very subtle. 

Probably everyone knows what’s going on. 

Probably everyone assumes he’s about to get fucked out of his mind. 

It is probably bad that that thought makes his cunt _throb_. 

They’re at the elevator. The wait has lasted all of 2 seconds and already feels interminable. 

Jon hits the down button again. Lucca sniffs at Tommy’s leg curiously; Jon tugs her away.

“Emily’s working from home, but she’s fine with us bringing you over, as long as that’s all right for you,” Jon says.

“Okay,” Tommy says. 

Tommy is trying to concentrate on his dog, who is the purest and best being in the entire universe. He...can’t really do it. 

“Lovett,” he says, under his breath. 

“It really hits you like a truck, huh,” Lovett says quietly, gripping his waist harder. 

“Yeah. Is that—a thing?” Tommy replies. Sweat pricks under his arms and down his spine. 

He wants Lovett to hold him harder. He wants Lovett to hold him _down_. 

“Clearly,” Lovett says. 

“So like—you’ve—before—?” Tommy asks. 

“I mean, I can see and smell it happening to you right now, so it’s obviously a thing,” Lovett replies.

“_Really_ helpful, Lovett,” Jon says, now wrangling all the dogs away from sniffing at Tommy. 

“He is blowing through pre-heat milestones like every two minutes! I’m not gonna lie to him!” Lovett whisper-yells, and then, thank god, the elevator dings, finally at their floor. 

Ira and Kara step out. 

“Oh god,” Tommy mumbles, flushing harder. He tries to stand straight instead of blatantly leaning into Lovett, but it ends up just making him really feel just how tight Lovett is holding him, which makes him want Lovett to—

“_Whoa_,” Ira and Kara say in tandem. “You okay?” Kara asks. 

Kara and Ira are both, blessedly, Betas. 

Tommy would definitely still like to lay down right here right now and beg Kara to fist him, but he can inhale her scent without physically combusting. Which is cool. 

“Not particularly,” he manages. 

“We’ll explain later,” Jon cuts in, and herds Tommy and Lovett into the elevator. 

The doors close, and Tommy exhales hard. He’s really sweating now, his face and throat and sternum and the backs of his knees. He’s itchy. He’s—fucking—_empty_. His cunt is pounding, and he’s painfully hard. Jesus. 

“I don’t know that I’m gonna. Um,” Tommy starts. 

“What?” Jon says. 

“Make it,” Tommy says. 

Jon and Lovett look at one another. 

“Hmmm,” Lovett says. “Limited options.” The elevator slows. 

“I’m fully prepared to send the SUV for cleaning after this, Tom,” Jon says. “And the back windows are tinted. Let’s just get you there and you can do whatever you have to do on the way home.” 

Tommy makes a noise in the back of his throat. The elevator dings. A fortysomething woman who works on the second floor—by scent, an Omega—steps on, looking at her phone, then inhales and immediately backtracks. “_Wow_. Good luck, hon,” she says to Tommy, who by now is leaning heavily on Lovett. “I’ll take the stairs.” 

Jon, wide-eyed, hits the close doors button. 

“Just a quick update, you have soaked through your pants,” Lovett says lightly. 

Jon makes a strangled sound—Tommy can’t tell if it’s more reproval or, well, lust—and looks Tommy up and down. 

“Thanks, I was trying not to think about that,” Tommy replies. He can feel that he’s wet and sticky all down the insides of his thighs. It’s ridiculous and embarrassing and, because biology is horrifying, makes him desperately, vividly want to pull his pants down and bend over until one or both of them _do something about it_. 

The elevator dings again, finally at the ground floor. Jon peeks his head around before they get out. No one’s there, so they hustle Tommy out of the lobby and into the parking lot. 

Jon hits the unlock button about twelve times as they approach his SUV. 

“Do literally whatever, and let me know if you want help,” Lovett says, with a solid and tempting grip on Tommy’s waist. 

Tommy swallows. Lovett’s scent sticks in the back of his throat. He wants to taste it; he wants it all over him. He wants _a lot _right now, really really a lot. “Uh huh,” he says. 

One foot in front of another. Even if his cunt is throbbing and his knees are about to buckle. 

Jon jogs ahead; it takes a minute to convince all three very confused dogs to get on the front seat together without anybody to hold them. By the time Jon makes it back around to the driver’s side, Lovett is opening the back door for Tommy and making sure he’s got his sea legs enough to step in. 

Jon starts the car, and glances back at the two of them. Tommy is bracing himself against one door. Lovett’s pulling the other door shut with his left hand. In the middle, Tommy has Lovett’s right hand in a death grip. 

God. This is going—really fast. At some point before they get home, Jon needs to warn Emily that Tommy is in full-blown heat.

“Okay, go,” Lovett says. Jon rips his eyes off Tommy and peels the fuck out of there. 

Now that Tommy has even a semblance of privacy—enough privacy that, if he gives in to this, he’s just going to embarrass the shit out of himself in front of closest friends, not traumatize his employees or get sued for harassment or get arrested for public exposure—it feels impossible to deny what his body is demanding. 

His body doesn’t, ultimately, give a fuck if he is ashamed or embarrassed or worried or any of that. His body doesn’t care what kinds of reasons he might have for wanting to wait until he feels safer or less exposed. 

His body wants to get _fucked_. 

He smells Lovett and fucking salivates for it. He wants Lovett on top of him, in him. He wants Jon holding his wrists. Wants Jon biting marks into his skin. He wants to work his own fist inside himself until the needy, pounding ache eases. 

He’s sweating so much he’s soaked through his shirt. His pants are a lost cause. The only time he can remember feeling this hot was when he got sunstroke at the beach five years ago and almost had to go to urgent care. 

He tears off his gross shirt, which is enough to make him dizzy again. He leans forward and rests his forehead on the back of the seat in front of him, heaving in the cool air. 

“Tommy,” Lovett says. 

Tommy locks back in on him. Tunnel vision. He realizes that he has Lovett’s hand back in a vice grip. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

Lovett’s flushed—turned on. He’s leaking precome. Tommy can smell it. 

“You’re—completely in heat,” Lovett says. 

“Is it that obvious,” Tommy tries to joke. It comes out strained, but Lovett grins anyway. 

“Uh huh,” Lovett replies. “You’re doing great.” He squeezes Tommy’s hand.

Tommy laughs, helplessly, a little hysterically. “Am I?” 

“It’s been twenty years, and you’re in LA traffic with your best friends, and you’re not actively having a panic attack as far as I can tell, so yeah, you’re doing awesome,” Lovett says. “Full marks.”

“Cool,” Tommy manages. 

“Cool. So, what do you think? Want to fuck yourself before you pass out?” Lovett says, calmly. 

Heat rips up Tommy’s center until he can feel it thick and demanding in the back of his throat, pounding in his temples, swelling under his tongue. 

“Uh huh,” he says, barely. 

Fuck it. Fuck it fuck it fuck it. He struggles out of his shoes and pants and boxer-briefs, hitches his right leg up against the door, and slides four fingers straight in where he’s soaking and aching and open for it. 

Jon says “Holy shit” and Tommy registers it, but—later. His brain can only do so much and has put everything but his incredible fucking cunt on seven-second broadcast delay. 

He doesn’t stop pushing until his fingers are in to the knuckles, thumb tucked outside, brushing the base of his dick. 

It feels intensely good—relief like ice water after hot dry hours without, even as his cunt clenches hard, greedy, trying to lock his hand inside. 

Christ. He wants it deeper. 

“_Fuck_,” Lovett says, with feeling, seven seconds ago. 

Tommy’s head lolls back, pleasure making it hard to keep track of all his limbs. He catches Lovett’s eye, blurrily, and can’t look away.

He rocks his hips once, then switches and holds his body still while fucking his fingers in and in and in. God, he _needs_ it deeper. He whines, which distantly he knows sounds pathetic, but who cares when he—fucking needs it_—shit—_

“Holy fuck, Tommy,” Lovett says. 

In the close air of the car, Tommy can smell exactly how much Lovett fucking likes this—his Alpha scent is coming through like the big rumbling humid bloom of a thunderstorm. Jon likes it too—Beta, subtler, with a tangy, staticky undercurrent. 

He shoves his fingers in again, harder, and sobs. It’s unbelievably good, unconscionably good, and it’s _not_ _enough_. 

“You okay? Do you need space?” Lovett asks, already loosening his grip on Tommy’s free hand, pulling away. 

Tommy whines even higher, plaintive, and snatches Lovett’s hand back.

Hanna isn’t here, which means no one knows what his dumb noises mean, which means he needs to hang onto his words for as long as he can. 

“I need to—need—but don’t let go of me,” Tommy strains. 

“Okay,” Lovett says, eyes wide, hands careful. Tommy can smell his pheromones spiking, and briefly, desperately, with an edge so harsh it’s almost cruelty, hopes he tips Lovett into rut. 

“Okay,” Tommy manages, and then he lets go of Lovett so he can bring his other knee up by his side. He’s slouched now, his back curved along the bottom of the seat, both knees bent, splayed wide, up by the sides of his chest, tilting his hole up. He has four fingers in his cunt to the knuckles. 

He breathes. He pulls his fingers out until only the tips are inside, clenching down around nothing and feeling like he’s about to die, just long enough to tuck his thumb in between his other fingers, and push his whole hand back in—slowly, inexorably, to the wrist. 

He basically whites out and returns to the sound of a low groan that, slowly, he realizes is him. He tightens his cunt until he can really feel it, can feel how _much_ it is inside, how wide his hole is stretched, how deep his fist is. God, it’s—_fuck_—

It’s almost enough.

Lovett has unbuckled himself and scooted closer. He’s gripping Tommy’s left bicep, eyes fixed on where Tommy’s hand is locked inside. 

“Holy _fuck_, Vietor,” he says. 

“Uh huh,” Tommy moans, tipping his head back until he’s got his nose right up against Lovett’s throat, where his scent is dizzying. 

Tommy’s burning up. He tries to use the strength of his right arm to actually fuck himself properly, but he’s too curled up to get any real leverage. His arms would have to be longer for this to really work. His fist is deep enough and big enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s about to pass out anymore, but he needs movement, he needs to get _fucked_. He tugs at his fist and tightens his cunt at the same time, feeling how needily he’s locking it in, feeling how much he fucking wants it to stay—right—fucking—_there_ in him. _Shit_. 

The car slows to a stop and doesn’t start up again. 

Through a haze of lust, Tommy lifts his head and watches as Jon turns and sees him fisting himself. 

Jon chokes on air. 

Tommy rocks his fist in deeper, wet up past his wrist, dripping all over Jon and Emily’s nice car, scenting it up. 

“_Shit_, Tom,” Jon finally says, still watching, sounding like he’s been punched in the stomach. “We should go—um. Inside.” 

Lovett—who by now has Tommy leaning back against him, one arm wrapped securely around Tommy’s middle, so Tommy can keep his face right up against Lovett’s throat—manages to disengage from the self-fisting taking place in his lap and contributes: “Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Tommy pants, pulling his fist back enough to feel the stretch of his cunt over the widest part of his hand again. “_Fuck_. Just.” He loses the thread when he does it again. 

“Tommy?” Lovett says, somewhere far away on seven-second delay. 

“Yeah, we’ll—go inside, just—just let me come first,” Tommy says between big gulps of air. 

Lovett swallows hard, and Tommy can hear it and feel it because he’s got his face in Lovett’s amazing delicious throat. God, he wants Lovett’s scent all over him. He needs—

He rocks against his fist so it rubs and rubs and rubs right where he likes it, deep, toward the front, and gets his free hand around his cock. 

Lovett groans in his ear and hitches Tommy closer, tighter. Tommy wants to push against Lovett’s grip, to let himself really feel it—but he can’t communicate, right now, that he wants Lovett to hold him down, to not let him go. So he doesn’t push, he just takes what Lovett’s giving him and breathes in the way Lovett’s pouring out Alpha pheromones right against Tommy’s nose and mouth and—_god_—

It’s hard, in heat, without an Alpha. It’s hard to get any relief without an Alpha locked inside, scenting you, coming in you, filling you up. But Tommy’s got a fist to lock down on and a hand to pull at his cock, electrifying, and he’s got Lovett right here to scent him and hold him. 

He just can’t quite—he just needs—he _needs_—

“Can you—” he gasps, so close now, unbearable. 

“Yes,” Lovett says in his ear. “Yes, Tommy, just tell me.” 

“Want your scent on me—want—just—”

“Take your hand off your cock and give it to me”—which is an insane proposition, but not getting Lovett’s scent is worse, so Tommy reluctantly unlocks his left hand from his cock. 

Lovett snatches his hand, lifts it to his face, and spits in it twice. 

“Get it inside,” he demands. 

Tommy’s whole body flashes hot. 

In the front seat, Jon lets out a soft whine. 

Dazed, Tommy smears it where his wrist and hole are joined, mixing it with the wetness from his cunt, pulling his hand out just a little, pushing it back in, working it all back inside him.

Lovett groans, his scent spiking again, and squeezes Tommy against him hard. “God. You’re a handful, huh,” Lovett says. 

Tommy moans, mouth opening against Lovett’s throat. He’s barrelling toward it now, scented and _full_ and stripping his cock fast— 

“Come on, Tommy,” Lovett tells him. “Just take it, take what you need.” 

—and Tommy, with a long gasp, comes, spasming hard around his fist, cock twitching, sobbing into Lovett’s throat. 

“Holy _fuck_,” Jon says, distantly. 

Lovett holds him tight through it, moaning low under his breath. “You can say that again,” he murmurs. He sounds dazed and smells very aroused. 

“_Holy fuck_,” Jon repeats. 

“Okay, I didn’t mean literally say it again,” Lovett gripes automatically as Tommy comes down, panting into his chest. 

Jon lets out a startled laugh, and can’t seem to stop laughing—and then Lovett’s giggling hysterically, and Tommy, still shivering and jolting with aftershocks, cracks up too. 

“I can’t believe—” Jon starts through the laughter.

“Extenuating circumstances!” Lovett interrupts. 

“—of all the times to take issue—” Jon continues. Tommy, flooded with endorphins, giggling hysterically into Lovett’s chest, can’t get a word in edgewise. 

“If you expect me to have my wits about me while Tommy goes to _pieces_ in my lap—!” 

_Knock, knock_

They all jump—but, thank god, it’s Emily at Jon’s window. 

“Are you okay?” she says, muffled through the glass. 

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his face into Lovett’s chest through his sweaty t-shirt. 

Jon cracks the window about a fourth of an inch, and even that makes Emily’s eyebrows shoot up. The smell from inside the SUV must be—a lot. Tommy has a sort of distant embarrassment about Emily smelling him like this. It doesn’t bother him too much, though—he feels so _good_. Warm, and lax, and satisfied. God, this fucking day.

“Tommy is, uh, indisposed,” Jon says through the crack, sending Lovett and Tommy into renewed hysterics. 

“I swear to god,” Lovett gasps, “if you are going to be delicate about this with your _wife_—” 

“Tommy went into heat on the way here and just fisted himself for twenty minutes. He’s still coming down,” Jon amends, raising his voice slightly so they can hear him over their giggles. 

It’s funny, but maybe a misstep too—Tommy can smell Emily’s scent spike from way back here, even though he’s drenched in Lovett’s. 

Jon and Lovett smell it too, clearly—Jon, whose mild Beta scent gets bigger and rounder, who shifts tellingly in the front seat—Lovett, who tightens his arm around Tommy and grins big. 

“Oh my god,” Emily finally says. 

“We’re gonna need a few minutes to get him decent enough to come inside,” Jon explains. 

“But can you take the dogs?” Lovett calls from the back seat, which sets Tommy off again. 

“Oh my god, yes I can rescue our traumatized dog children,” Emily calls back, laughing too. The dogs spill out the second she opens the passenger door, Leo and Lucca jumping at her, Pundit barking. 

Respectfully, Emily doesn’t look anywhere near Tommy, who still has his fist locked inside himself, soothing, holding the waves of heat at bay, if only for a little while. But she must get a face full of his scent, because she says, “Tommy, holy_ shit_.” 

The lightness he’d been feeling evaporates, and his smile fades. “Sorry, Em,” he replies. 

He really should cover up. He _would_ cover up, except that he’s not sure he can bear to take his fist out of himself yet. 

“Don’t be,” Emily says, before closing the passenger door. “What are friends for?” she adds through the cracked window, then raps on the glass twice and walks off to sequester the dogs. 

“Oh,” Tommy murmurs, surprised and deeply touched. 

“That’s _what I said this morning_, and when_ I_ said it you were _scandalized_,” Lovett objects, with half a grin, ready to jump right back into performative outrage. But he runs a hand over Tommy’s chest, soothing. 

“Okay, okay, no,” Jon says. He smiles back at the two of them. “Let’s get Tommy inside before you get into it. I don’t need my neighbors to witness any more of this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: character going into heat in public (no public sex); character experiencing sexual attraction to a subordinate in a work setting (no harassment—the attraction isn't acted on at all); fisting; a little spitting (as a scent thing, not a lube thing).
> 
> \-- 
> 
> One thousand thanks to [LetsSpinTheWheel](url), who read these first three chapters back in December and gave me some very helpful feedback! You're a gem.
> 
> \-- 
> 
> As always, if you have a few seconds, I'd love to know one thing you liked! Drop me a note in the comments and make my day. :) 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has no major archive warnings. If you want more specific, spoilery content warnings for this chapter, check the endnotes!

“Great, you’re settled,” Emily says, breezing into the guest room, smiling at Tommy. “Let’s make a plan.” 

Tommy wouldn’t jump straight to ‘settled.’ He is firmly ensconced on the bed, sipping Gatorade to replace the fluids he’s currently leaking all over Jon and Emily’s nice Parachute sheets. 

He feels safe, and cared for, and incredibly embarrassed. It helps that Jon, Emily, and Lovett are all being so matter-of-fact about it—bundling Tommy inside, leaving the SUV windows open to air it out, making sure the dogs are puppy-gated in the common room. It also helps, in a strange way, that his body is pulling his focus, informing him in no uncertain terms that he’s two minutes max away from shoving his fist back inside himself, damn the niceties.

Still—none of that gets rid of the shame.

After long decades of careful management, he finally fucked up. And now they’re all seeing him exactly the way he’d always tried to avoid—with anyone, with any of them, and particularly with Emily. He’s been meticulously appropriate with Emily for so long. Sure, they have a close, playful friendship. But their respective designations have always been set aside, ignored, neutralized. 

He would never _do anything_ with Emily, is the thing. It’s not that she’s not desirable—she is. He can see what Jon sees in her. It’s more the opposite: Tommy and Emily’s compatibility is so obvious that Tommy has always wanted to go out of his way to make it clear to Hanna that there was nothing but friendship between her best friend and her husband. He never wanted Hanna to have a single doubt in her mind. 

He figured that, if he could be aggressively neutral with Emily, no hint of attraction or Omega instinct anywhere, it would allow the four of them—Jon, Emily, Hanna, and Tommy—to be the kind of close adult friends whose friendships Tommy has always admired and envied. 

And he was _right_. The four of them grew a friendship together, and that friendship has flourished for years, across different jobs, through good times and bad, from one coast to another. It's one of the best things in Tommy’s life—right up there with the friendship he and Jon and Lovett have built. 

He wouldn’t change a thing. 

He wouldn’t change a thing—except now, Hanna is across the world, and Tommy has never let any of the other people he loves and trusts see even a hint of this side of him, and he’s terrified.

His head is pounding; he’s pouring sweat; his body is one big needy ache. How much longer can he take this before he puts his fist back in? He has to say something. Get them out of here before—before—

Jon pops in with another round of supplies. First he’d brought in an ominous black plastic bin, which Lovett had nodded approvingly at. Now he’s got an armful of pillows, blankets, and yet more blankets. 

”Kinky,” Lovett says when Jon pulls out the microfleece. 

“I thought you said Emily already told you all my kinks,” Jon calls back, from the hallway. Emily raises her eyebrows at Lovett. 

“Yeah,” Lovett says. He looks up from his phone to lock eyes with Emily. “She told me about marking you up all over and rut-fucking you so much that she had to emergency Postmates more lube, not about your _nesting habits_.”

“They’re pretty intense,” Emily says, as Jon comes back in with an armful of weighted blankets. 

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Lovett says, with a fond look at Jon. 

“Babe, do you know where the nesting pillows are?” Jon asks.

“At the laundry service, with half the sheets,” Emily says. “They’ll drop them off tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” Jon says, and slinks to her side with a guilty look. “Sorry, Tommy.” 

Tommy rearranges himself so he can tuck his heel against his cunt. Subtly. Under the sheets. And rock against it a little, maybe. 

Maybe more than a little. 

“You’re good,” he tells Jon, trying to sound normal. “Won’t miss them—it’s not like I’ve ever used nesting pillows.” 

Jon lets out a strangled noise. 

“Not everyone nests!” Emily says, with a gentle smack to Jon’s arm. “And that’s why we don’t need a generic heat plan. We need a Tommy plan. Tommy, how does this go? What do you need from us?” 

Tommy, who is already pink, goes fully red from his forehead to his belly. 

Lovett, Jon, and Emily all give him a once-over. 

Tommy watches it happen. He can’t fucking speak. It’s coming over him again, full speed—and he knows exactly what he _wants_ from all of them, all at once, or in turns, however they’d like it—his cunt is pounding with it—but it’s completely insane, it’s insane to want that, and none of them are in heat or rut so he’s going to sound completely crazy and pathetic and torch decades of friendship if he says it, so he’s never ever _ever_ going to say it. 

He shoves a hand under the covers to cup himself, though that’s futile—there’s no staving off heat.

Lovett, not taking his eyes off Tommy, says, “So, funny story.” 

“I adore you. But is now really the time,” Emily replies, eyes locked on Tommy’s forearm, flexing as he touches himself beneath the sheets.

“The funny story is that this is Tommy’s second full heat ever, and he has no idea what he needs, and Hanna is out of range of phones...emails...telegrams...honestly maybe we should look into carrier pigeons.” 

Emily’s jaw drops, but she quickly gathers herself. “Okay, that’s okay, we’re going to figure this out.” Then she pauses, apparently stumped. “Sorry, honestly I’m amazed that Hanna never talked to me about this,” she adds. 

“It’s not really a—thing.” Tommy says. He’s forcing thoughts through his brain into his mouth, but the window where coherence is possible is closing. Thank god his voice still sounds almost normal. “It was never a big deal between us. I loved that.” 

He’s grinding against his heel in front of his three best friends. Because his wife is gone—his Alpha is _gone_. His breath is coming heavy and wet again. 

He and Hanna might have always told themselves and one another that all of this Alpha and Omega stuff wasn’t a big deal, but it’s a big deal now. 

“All relationships are irreducibly complex,” Lovett says, “but anyway, Tommy, you look like you’re about to die, so let’s postpone long-term planning and give you a crash course in the Favreaus’ sex toys.” 

Jon yanks the big plastic bin out from underneath a heap of microfleece and gets up on the bed with it. 

Jon is kneeling up to get the lid off, close to Tommy, hovering over him, and it makes Tommy want to yank him down, get Jon’s weight on top of him. Maybe lock Jon’s thigh between his thighs, grind it out until he couldn’t stand it. Or lock his ankles behind Jon’s back, get fucked for a while, until he was crazy with needing a knot. Maybe Jon would put his fist in, then. Maybe Jon would put his fist around his dick and put it _all_ in. Maybe he’d bite Tommy’s throat. Jon would know how to do it—Emily marks Jon up all the time—and Jon’s smart, he could figure it out. He could multitask—his cock and his hand and his teeth in Tommy, all at once. 

“Earth to Tommy?” the real Jon is saying, gently. “Focus up.” 

Tommy whines low in his throat. He’s overheated and grinding in his own slick. He wants to arch his spine and tilt his neck back and let them all at him. They could take turns. 

_—God_, _fuck_. 

“I’m sorry—I can’t—” he can’t _think_ like this. He can’t get words out of his mouth. He needs— “_Hanna_.”

“Oh—” Jon backs off, dropping the dildo he’d been holding, and then scoots off the bed entirely. 

“Tommy?” comes Emily’s voice. “We’re going to be in the hallway.”

“Give us a shout and we’ll check on you,” Lovett adds. “Okay?” 

Tommy whines, squirming around until he’s on his back under the sheets. It feels good to be on his back with his legs spread. It might feel even better to put his ass in the air—but—he can’t wait, and helplessly slips a couple of fingers inside himself. 

He’s still plenty wet and a little swollen from, what, fifteen minutes ago? But he’s not tired out at all, like he would be normally after a great orgasm, and he isn’t sore the way he often gets after Hanna really fucks him. 

He puts another finger in. 

“Okay, good talk,” Lovett says, from some other world where people have coherent thoughts. 

The door shuts. Tommy’s alone. 

* * * 

It’s not working. 

It’s not _working_ it’s not_ working it’s not working it’s not working—_

Tommy’s soaked in sweat, fucking himself with the dildo that Jon had touched. He’s tried it missionary. He’s tried it ass up, twisting to reach behind himself. He’s tried it laying on his side with it inside, grinding against a pillow. 

He’s back on his back again now, holding the length of silicone inside, crying again, hysterical, _pathetic_. 

He can’t do this—this basic biological function, this simple bodily need that everybody from teenagers to middle-aged schlubs who’ve never worked in the White House can handle, and do handle, regularly, for decades. He can’t do it right, _he_ _can’t even do this_. 

He doesn’t want to do any more of this. He doesn’t want to do this _ever_. He can’t do this for ten days. He’s worthless. He’s in heat and no oneis helping him, _no one wants him_. He must smell disgusting. He must _be_ disgusting. He’s covered in wet and sweat and he’s _gross_ and _horrible_ and _unlovable_ and _alone_.

He gives up on holding the toy inside. He collapses back on the bed, starfished—feeling the desperation wash over him, feeling his body scream at him, feeling his skin get hotter and hotter and hotter—and wails. 

Jon bursts through the door. Lovett trails behind, looking spooked. 

Tommy’s sobbing, he’s—incoherent. He just has to—he has to—

“Please,” Tommy sobs. “Please, please, please, please, _please_, Jon, _please—_”

“Tommy,” Jon says, stunned. 

He clambers onto the bed and runs a hand up Tommy’s chest, over his throat. 

He thumbs with incredible gentleness over Tommy’s ear, his jaw. 

Tommy, heaving big gulps of breath between sobs like a stupid baby, nuzzles into Jon’s palm, rubbing his face against Jon’s long fingers. He licks the sweat off Jon’s palm, feeling wild for his touch.

“Tommy, what—? Are you—?” Jon fumbles, eyes locked on Tommy’s soft mouth, which Tommy is using to investigate the gaps between Jon’s fingers. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tommy chokes, “I’m sorry, please, please will you, _please_—” 

“Tell me,” Jon says, soft. “Tommy, it’s okay, just tell me.” 

“Touch me, _fuck_ me,” Tommy gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—Hanna’s not—I can’t, I can’t do it alone, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, Tom,” Jon says, gripping his shoulder. “Don’t you _ever_ apologize to me for what you need.” 

“Jon,” Lovett says, from the foot of the bed. “Give him skin contact. I mean, the rest is up to you, but give him skin contact, he’s—starving.” 

“‘Lovett,” Tommy pleads. 

Lovett visibly hesitates, then climbs onto the bed too. “I’m here,” he says.

Tommy knows he’s here. He can _smell_ him—Lovett—deep, huge, humid and earthy, blooming, alive. He wants them on him—he wants to roll around in the scent of them. “I—I—” 

Surely Jon touching him is enough. Tommy shouldn’t ask for anything more. These are his best friends, who’ve done so much for him, and he’s never once crossed a line with them, before today—but—but he—_god_—

Jon stops touching him for two seconds to take off his shirt—but Lovett’s here too, running his fingers up Tommy’s arm, over his shoulder, his collarbone, up his throat, back down his chest. Tommy shivers hard, arching into it, feeling the pleasure of it pour down his spine. He hears himself whimper. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy gasps. He shouldn’t feel this way about their touch.

“Don’t apologize,” Lovett says, and cups Tommy’s hot cheek in his cool palm.

Tommy wants to curl up inside them and never leave. 

Jon, shirt and pants now off but TommyJohns still on, lays down along Tommy’s side, pressing the whole length of them together. 

Tommy shivers in momentary pleasure, then squirms, unsatisfied—surely Jon will—surely _someone_ will—

This time, Lovett takes him by the hair, and pulls until Tommy’s eyes lock on his. “I have you. Tell me what you need.” 

“Fuck me. Fuck me. Mark me. Touch me—_please_—” 

Lovett picks up the toy Tommy had been using with one hand, and splays the other hand on Tommy’s chest, holding him down. 

“You don’t have to beg,” Lovett says. He slides the toy right into Tommy’s aching hole. 

Tommy yelps, arching into it. 

He can smell his own scent spike, and Jon growls low at his side, digging his nose in behind Tommy’s ear, squeezing him around the ribs, grounding him. 

It feels completely different than before, now that they’re touching him. It’s not enough, but it’s—good. It’s a pleasure to feel the toy stretch him open, a pleasure to clench down needily around it as Lovett pulls it back out, a pleasure to feel Jon’s skin cool like a balm against his, a pleasure to feel the pressure Lovett’s putting on his chest. 

“Oh god—” Tommy pants. “Thank you—please—” 

“You’ve put yourself through enough, okay? Tell me what you need to come,” Lovett says. 

It feels ludicrous to need more. They’re already giving him so much. 

Tommy’s body doesn’t give a fuck, though. Tommy needs his scent. Tommy needs his _knot_. He whines. 

Lovett taps him lightly on the cheek. “Focus. Tell me.” 

“More—” Tommy manages. It is, distantly, terrifying to say aloud. “More, inside. And your scent—Lo’, please.” 

Jon, an absolute hero, taps Lovett on the shoulder and hands him a new toy, one that has a knot. 

“Hmm,” Lovett says. He takes it from Jon. Then he pulls Jon’s hand down, between Tommy’s legs. He wraps Jon’s hand around the base of the toy they’ve been using, which Tommy is trying futilely to lock inside. 

“Okay?” Lovett asks Jon. 

“Yeah,” Jon huffs, looking almost dazed, eyes roving over Tommy—flushed and heaving and covered in sweat. “Goddamn, Tom,” he says, and then he pulls the dildo out and thrusts it back in, making Tommy yelp, then whine when there’s still no knot to lock. 

“Tommy,” Lovett says. 

Tommy tears two percent of his attention away from his cunt and looks at Lovett. Lovett, who is—

God, Lovett who is licking at the knotting toy, then sliding it in his mouth and—uh, whoa—down his throat, until the knot is the only part outside the seal of his lips. 

Tommy wants to say something encouraging, but all that comes out is a needy moan. 

Lovett pulls the toy out slowly. It’s absolutely covered in his scent, now—perfect. 

“That’s serious skill,” Jon says, from some other plane, where people can say full sentences with their mouths. 

Tommy is distantly jealous of Jon's cogency; all his body will agree to do is put his arms over his head and arch his throat. He does that. Lovett watches him closely.

“I’m chock full of talent,” Lovett says. He sounds a little dazed, but he pulls himself together enough to tell Jon, “Now get out of my way.” 

“Huh?” Jon says. Then he seems to register that he’s been fucking Tommy steadily with the smooth, knotless dildo all the while. “Oh!” 

Jon pulls it out. 

Tommy nearly screams at the emptiness. “_No_,” he begs. 

But Lovett is already sliding the knotting toy inside, and Tommy falls silent, the air all going out of his lungs at once. 

“What did I tell you?” Lovett murmurs. “I have you.” 

“Lovett—” Tommy gasps, and then, yes, yes, _yes_, Lovett pushes in the silicone knot—so wide the stretch edges on painful, but it’s good too, so _so good_—

Tommy’s cunt eats it up, greedy and wet. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Lovett murmurs. 

Jon lets out a strangled little groan. He has resumed his role as human body pillow, and is pressed all along Tommy’s side, stroking his arms and face and torso, gentling him through it, much like—Lovett thinks—something out of very well-cast, hopelessly stereotypical Alpha-Beta-Omega porn. 

Lovett would roll his eyes at the classic tableau the three of them make, except that Jon and Tommy both look so fucking blissed out. He doesn’t have much room to judge either, at this point. He’s been so hard that he aches since Tommy started fisting himself an hour ago. He’d gladly fuck them one after another, much like the Alpha would inevitably do in said stereotypical porn.

Tommy’s rocking on the knot now, eyes screwed shut. His hips twitch as Lovett presses in, before pulling back just slightly to let Tommy really feel it—feel how he’s gripping at it, how hard he has the knot locked inside. 

“God, you like taking that. You needed that, huh. Is that what you needed?” Lovett croons, pushing. 

Tommy shivers hard, then arches uncontrollably, eyes rolling back in his head, coming so hard it makes his ears ring. 

Tommy doesn’t return to himself for a while. When he finally does, his back is cramping and he’s still jolting a little with aftershocks. He collapses flat to the bed, panting. He’s got the knotting dildo locked inside, and it feels fucking incredible—full, satisfying, without having to strive for more. He reaches down to milk the last of the aftershocks out of his cock, which is dribbling come all over his belly. He smears his own come into his skin, and hears Lovett choke above him. 

He opens his eyes.

“Holy shit, Tommy,” Lovett says. 

Lovett is sweaty and hard and his scent is incredibly dense. Tommy swallows, shivering through another aftershock. Lovett’s hand is still on the base of the dildo, holding it inside Tommy’s swollen, twitching hole. 

Smelling Lovett, knowing he has Lovett’s scent inside—christ. Tommy wants Lovett to fuck him again. Now. To push the dildo in and in and in until Tommy had no choice but to come again. To take the dildo out and put his cock in, push Tommy’s legs back until he had whatever angle he wanted. To put Tommy wherever he wants, fuck him however he wants, as long as he keeps fucking him, as long as he keeps _smelling_ like that, as long as he keeps Tommy’s needy hole full—

“Whoa, whoa, not yet,” Lovett says, suddenly. He draws Tommy’s own hand down to the base of the toy, just barely protruding from Tommy’s hole, and then he backs away, to the far end of the king-size bed. 

“Huh?” Tommy says, tracking him. He’s a little distracted, using his fingers to explore where the silicone is stretching his hole open. 

“You smelled like you were about to go straight into a whole ‘nother round,” Jon says. He’s backed off a little, too, but not as far. He’s next to Tommy, propped up on one elbow, stroking Tommy’s arm with his free hand. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, clenching down around the knot inside, and feeling it—feeling the way he could just keep going right now, feeling how much he wants Jon to pin his wrists to the bed and work his cock in alongside the dildo—which, uh—is that even possible?

Tommy shakes his head, and then scrubs his free hand over his face and hair. “Yeah. I think I could. But I think I can hold off for a little bit, too, if you—uh. If you stay over there, Lovett.” 

“Hmm?” Lovett says. He tears his eyes away from where Tommy’s touching himself and refocuses on Tommy’s face.

“Your scent—uh—” What can Tommy possibly say, with Lovett’s full attention on him? _You just fucked me so well, and smelling you makes me want you to fuck me nonstop for the next week? _

It’s the truth, but surely he can keep his head enough to _not_ _say it out loud_. 

“I get it,” Lovett says. “Actually—Jon, if you’re doing good, can you stay here and keep an eye on him? I’m gonna get some air.” 

Jon and Tommy both snort at the euphemism, and Lovett rolls his eyes. 

“I’ll come right back,” Lovett adds. “Okay, Tommy?” 

Tommy looks at him, swallowing a whine. He doesn’t want Lovett to leave. He actually feels pretty freaked out at the idea of Lovett leaving. But Jon’s here, holding him close—Jon will make sure he isn’t alone. 

“Okay,” Tommy says. 

Lovett gives them a little wave, and bolts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: There's a depiction of a character being pretty triggered while sexual things are happening. (There's no assault at all—specifically, the character is triggered by being left alone during heat.) This involves some really negative self-talk. This is resolved in the course of the chapter, and the character's sense of safety is restored.
> 
> \--
> 
> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :) 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has no major archive warnings. If you want more specific, spoilery content warnings for this chapter, check the endnotes!

The door closes. Tommy feels his eyes fill with hot tears. 

“Shit,” he rasps, and covers his eyes with his hand. 

“Are you crying?” Jon asks. He strokes Tommy’s vulnerable ribs and stomach. “Tom?” 

Tommy is definitely crying, and Jon’s face is about two inches from his face, so it would be pointless to deny. “I’m sorry,” he manages to say. “I know this is pathetic.” 

Jon pulls Tommy’s hand away from his eyes. “Tommy. This isn’t pathetic.”

Tommy wipes his nose on the back of his own arm. “It feels pretty fucking pathetic,” he replies. 

Jon snorts, and taps Tommy’s pec with his fist—a gentle punch. A punch full of fondness. “You’re such a little shit,” Jon says. Then he softens. “All I’m thinking about is how brave you are, and how amazing you smell, and how hot you look. Okay?” 

Tommy tries to stop with the crying already. It’s hard. Fucking hormones. “Yeah?” he says. He misses casual by a mile. 

He makes eye contact with Jon for the first time in a while. 

As expected, it’s overwhelming. Jon’s face is always so open. For someone who’s so ambitious, who can be calculating when he needs to be, Jon is also—raw. 

It’s a liability, sometimes. And it’s hard to take, sometimes: the full force of Jon’s sincerity. But Tommy loves it. Tommy loves knowing when Jon is mad, or sad, or tired, so Tommy can fix it. Tommy loves knowing when Jon is happy, so Tommy can bask in it. 

It’s a relief to look at him. Tommy doesn’t see any pity or disgust. 

It’s also scary. To look into Jon’s face is to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Jon adores him. Desires him. Admires him. 

Jon lets Tommy look his fill, stroking over Tommy’s chest now, his throat, his forehead. Minutes pass. 

“Jon,” Tommy whispers, finally. 

“I love you,” Jon says. “All right?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy says. 

“Don’t be scared with me. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Tommy breathes. 

Jon strokes his cheek and keeps looking at him. Tommy, dazed and warm, lets him. 

It’s wildly intimate, but what’s a little more intimacy after everything that’s happened today? 

“Hey,” comes Emily’s voice from the doorway. Tommy looks up, but she hasn’t stepped in, just cracked the door to talk. “Are you two okay in there?”

Jon runs his thumb over Tommy’s cheekbone, watching his face. 

“Yeah, we’re doing okay,” he replies. 

Overcome, Tommy presses a kiss to his wrist. 

Jon, incredibly, blushes. 

“Emily—” Jon starts. “Or, wait. Tommy, can Emily come in?” 

Tommy’s laying on his back, buck naked with his legs open and a silicone knot inside, basically blasting out pheromones.

“Uh, I mean—do _you_ mind?” he asks Jon quietly. 

“Of course not,” Jon replies, eyebrows drawing in. 

“Then—” Tommy closes his legs and twists over so he’s on his side, facing Jon. He pulls a sheet up to his waist. He’s still very naked but he doesn’t feel quite as obscene. “Sure.” 

Jon runs a hand through Tommy’s hair and says, “Babe, come in.” 

Tommy is facing away from the door but he can tell the moment Emily sees him—her scent spikes, scorching like bare feet on pavement in summertime. Tommy gets goosebumps all over. 

Before Tommy can say anything to her, Jon says, “Emily, can I kiss Tommy?” 

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, heart pounding. 

“Of course,” Emily replies, evenly, even as her scent billows through the room, giving her enthusiasm away.

“Tommy?” Jon says. He’s stroking the short hair on the back of Tommy’s head. 

Tommy keeps his eyes closed. He’s going to cry _again_.God damn the _fucking_ _hormones_. 

“Tommy?” Jon says, softer. “Hey. It’s okay if you don’t want to.” 

“Jon, I—I want to,” Tommy manages. This is terrifying. He’s glad his eyes are closed. “But I have to talk to Hanna. I’m not just going to—to fuck around on Hanna.” 

Jon, to his credit, just strokes Tommy’s hair. “Yeah,” he says, after a moment. “I understand.”

“I mean, sure—but also _no_,” Emily says. 

Tommy opens his eyes, startled. Emily is closer now, but not on the bed. She is standing just behind Jon, resting a hand on his side. 

“Look—I don’t want to be pushy—” Emily starts. Jon snorts, and Emily smacks his shoulder playfully. Jon laughs. “Fine, stipulated: I am pushy by nature,” she says. 

“Better,” Jon says. 

“Also stipulated: this is a less than ideal situation,” Emily adds. 

“Understatement of the year,” Tommy replies. The knot is still inside him, but he’s already feeling twitchy about when he’s going to get fucked again. 

“But, Tommy,” Emily continues, “there’s no world in which Hanna would prioritize _anything_ over you feeling healthy and safe and loved and cared for.” 

“I mean—of course Hanna doesn’t want me to get hurt,” Tommy says. “But we don’t mess around with this stuff. We….” He trails off. 

How can he explain how it is, between him and Hanna? 

Saying that they’re monogamous sounds stuffy and restrictive, which isn’t right at all. For Tommy, their commitment to one another feels exciting, expansive, full of possibility. It’s kind of like you’re sitting there, thinking, ‘hey, I need to live somewhere, I should build a house,’ and you meet somebody else who also wants to build a house, which is cool and helpful—and then you realize that the other person is _the absolute fucking bee’s knees_, so you both throw out all your careful, manageable, cookie-cutter house plans, and get an enormous tract of land, and lay a hearty, rock-solid foundation, and start planting a huge ass garden out back—because the two of you are in this for the long haul, and that means you have all the time in the world to build whatever the hell you both want, together. 

_God_, he misses Hanna. He wants to hold her and put his face in her hair. He wants to _talk_ to her about all this.

He can’t explain any of that, though, so he just says, “Since our first date, the only person I’ve kissed is her,” he says.

Jon whistles, and gives him a little congratulatory shake, like they’re playing a pickup baseball game, not like they’re in the middle of a heat.

“It took this one—” Emily grins down at Jon “—a minute to lock me down.”

“Months, Tommy,” Jon says. “It took _months_.”

“I wasn’t about to put my life on hold just because a handsome playboy took an interest,” Emily says, breezily. 

“I was fully prepared to put my life on hold about forty-five minutes after meeting Emily,” Jon declares. 

“I know,” Tommy replies, cracking a grin. He has heard many iterations of this exchange, over the years. 

“Anyway,” Emily says. “My point is, it’s not like you just casually decided it’s about time you make out with Jon. Heat and rut are different. You need sex, and touch, and scent, and—intimacy.” 

“That’s—” Tommy pauses to shudder as the toy slips out of him. 

His cunt immediately starts pounding, demanding. He wants to yank Jon on top of him. He wants to arch his throat until Emily bites him. Instead of going off the deep end, he pulls the toy all the way out and sits up, trying to give himself a little distance. He takes a deep breath and continues: “I think I do need—something inside me, and skin contact. And an Alpha’s scent on me.” 

Emily’s scent spikes again, which they all politely ignore. 

“I might _want_—um—” Tommy stutters to a halt. 

Jon sits up too, and takes Tommy’s hand, like he’s a scared kid. 

Tommy swallows. “I want—more. To be kissed, and—and held, and fucked, and marked up,” he manages. “But I don’t _need_ it.” 

Emily narrows her eyes. 

“Tommy,” she says, firmly. “There’s a difference between ‘my physical body can temporarily survive without this,’ and ‘_I don’t need it._’” 

Tommy heart pounds in his throat, and behind his eyes. 

This is starting to sound eerily similar to several talks that Hanna herself has had with him about sleep quantity and quality. 

And exercise. 

And food. 

Hanna has been a positive influence. 

Emily sighs, and sits next to Jon on the bed. “Look—it’s up to you,” she says. “But if you’re telling yourself you can’t because _Hanna_ wouldn’t want you to—to kiss Jon, or fuck Lovett, or whatever it is—I have to tell you, she would. I think she would want us to take care of you. Whatever that looks like.” 

Another wave of heat washes over Tommy. He closes his eyes and he grips Jon’s hand hard, trying not to move. 

When it ebbs a little and he opens his eyes, Jon and Emily are both watching him, worried. 

“Let us help,” Jon says. “Anything you want, nothing you don’t want.”

Tommy swallows, his throat feeling slow and sticky. His skin is hot all over. He feels—so wet, so unbearably ready—and, more than anything, scared. 

He doesn’t want to feel scared. 

He doesn’t know about the rest, but he knows Hanna wouldn’t want him to feel scared. He knows that, down to his bones.

“Jon,” he whispers. “Will you kiss me? Please?” 

“Yes,” Jon says, and cups Tommy’s cheek.

“Shit,” Lovett squeaks from the doorway. 

“Get in here, Lovett,” Tommy says without taking his eyes off Jon. 

Jon grins. Tommy leans forward just a little bit, sealing their lips together. Jon hums, nudging in a little harder, licking gently along Tommy’s bottom lip. 

Another wave hits Tommy. His body goes so hot so fast that he feels lightheaded. He sags against Jon. Lovett, who has hopped back up on the bed, grips his neck, but lets go again when it makes Tommy moan. 

When Tommy comes back to himself a moment later, he’s got a good grip on Jon’s shoulders, and he’s licking at Jon’s jaw. 

Jon strokes a hand through his hair and down his back. 

What had felt calming earlier, when the toy’s knot was still inside him, now feels like Jon is taking fire and spreading it evenly through Tommy’s face and limbs. 

“Can I—can I—” God, he’s already losing words again. He kneels up and shifts over so he’s straddling one of Jon’s legs. 

“Yes,” Jon says immediately, and pulls him down to grind on his thigh. 

“Fuck, _fuck_,” Tommy mutters, shoving against him. 

“What do you want, Tommy?” Lovett asks, careful not to touch him. 

“This is—I just—so much,” Tommy says, realizing as it’s coming out of his mouth that it’s incomprehensible. He leans his forehead against Jon’s and takes a deep breath. He can put a single sentence together, surely. _Come on, Vietor._ “Want to slow down,” he says. 

“Okay,” Lovett and Emily say in unison, each startling the other. 

There’s a sudden charge between them—the sort of palpable tension that really brings home the fact that these are two Alphas in one room with an Omega in heat—and it makes both Jon and Tommy freeze in place for a couple seconds, until Lovett grins and Emily relaxes back against the headboard. 

“We can do that, Tommy,” Lovett continues, as though it hadn’t happened. “Jon, can you mark him up? Not a heat bond, just marks?” 

Tommy moans, pushing his whole face into Jon’s neck, where his subtle Beta scent is strongest. 

“Em?” Jon says. 

“Go for it, babe,” Emily replies. 

“No—I mean, thanks, but—I haven’t really done that before. Can you show me?” Jon says. 

“Happy to.” Emily crawls around until she’s on the other side of Tommy, facing Jon. She leaves a good foot between her body and Tommy’s, but rests one hand lightly on Tommy’s upper back.

Lovett goes still for half a second, then settles back, literally sitting on his hands.

Emily freezes, though, and lifts her hand off Tommy. “Is this okay, Lovett?” she asks. 

Lovett hesitates, and then goes for it. “Em, I’m partnered with an Alpha. I don’t want to make this weird for you, but I _fucking_ _love_ having another Alpha in my territory.” 

Emily bares her teeth. “Actually, you’re in mine.” 

Lovett shivers all over, and then refocuses on Tommy. “Cool cool cool cool _cool cool cool_,” he says under his breath. 

“Are you actually good?” Emily asks. She rests her palm against Tommy’s back again and strokes Jon’s arm with her other hand, soothing. Tommy nuzzles into Jon’s throat and rocks against his leg. Being bracketed by Jon and Emily like this is—it’s a lot. 

“I am actively into this and just hoping you don’t mind how into it I am, let’s chat later,” Lovett replies, talking fast. 

“I’m _great_,” Emily says. “Look at what a good boy Tommy’s being.”

Tommy shudders, unable to keep himself from grinding down hard on Jon’s leg. 

“Not to armchair quarterback here—_sports!_—but we’re trying to slow him down, so you might not want to say that right now,” Lovett says. 

“Right,” Emily replies. “Oops. Okay. So, Jon. When I mark you, it turns you on.” 

“Understatement,” Jon interrupts, smiling up at her like she’s the sun. 

Emily scrunches her nose at him, clearly pleased. “I bet Tommy would be pretty turned on if Lovett or I marked him, too,” she continues. 

Tommy whimpers into Jon’s throat, hips jerking helplessly. Jon runs a hand through his hair. 

“But Betas are different,” she continues. “If _you_ bite him, somewhere not particularly erogenous, it should help calm him down temporarily. Give him more time before the next wave.” 

“That’s really a thing? A pheromone thing?” Jon asks, still stroking Tommy’s hair. “Because I’ve never done that to anyone.” 

“I hate to break it to you, Jon,” Lovett interjects, “but that’s because you’ve never wanted to calm someone down in bed in your life. You have wanted everyone you have ever slept with to absolutely ravage you.” 

Emily laughs. Jon blushes—it’s very pretty—then shrugs and nods.

“So, Tommy, where do you think?” Emily asks. “We don’t want to make it worse by accident.” She rubs her thumb in tiny swipes across his back, trying to soothe. 

Tommy moans helplessly into Jon’s throat, and pushes into Emily’s light touch. 

“Maybe let’s—let’s, uh—_later_,” Tommy gets out. 

Lovett sits forward abruptly. He guides Tommy’s face up out of Jon’s throat, gentle. “Yeah,” he says, looking at Tommy’s blown-out pupils. “We waited too long. He’s in it.” 

“_Shit_, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” says Emily, scrambling backwards. 

“You’re fine, you couldn’t have known,” Lovett replies. “His scent in here is already so strong, it’s hard to tell variations.” He grips Tommy’s hair now, hard. Tommy feels the pressure in his scalp, rushing down his spine, pooling low and hot in his belly. 

A gush of wet leaks out of him, all over Jon’s bare thigh. 

Jon can feel exactly how much he likes getting yanked around. _Jesus_. 

“It comes on so fast for you,” Lovett says. “God. No wonder it freaks you out.” 

“Lo’,” Tommy croaks.

“I’m going to run a bath,” Emily says, abruptly. She hops off the bed. “And when he’s through this round, maybe—” 

“That’s a good idea,” Lovett says. He slides over, taking Emily’s spot behind Tommy, and pulls Tommy’s hair until his face is in Lovett’s throat. 

Emily’s scent does something weird—flashing hot and aggressive, then fizzling like a sparkler. Jon’s hands tighten on Tommy’s hips, and he locks eyes with her. “Okay, I’m going,” she declares, and backs into the attached bathroom. 

Now it’s Jon and Lovett bracketing Tommy. It feels almost familiar, after last time. Tommy whines for them, embarrassed but unable to help himself. 

They’ve seen worse. They won’t leave him like this, surely. 

“Tell us what you need, Tommy,” Lovett says. 

“Get _in me_,” Tommy says, squeezing his eyes shut.

Lovett’s scent, which had been subdued, blooms out, blanketing the three of them. 

“Yeah. _Yeah_, we can do that,” Lovett replies. He lets go on Tommy’s hair and holds him around the chest instead. “Jon, can you use your long spider arms to reach a clean knotting toy?” 

“Is now really the time?” Jon asks, but he’s giggling. As it turns out, he can reach a clean toy with his long spider arms. He offers it up to Lovett, but Lovett shakes his head. 

“It’s all you, buddy,” Lovett says. He settles back, tugging Tommy into the cradle of his hips, holding him tight to his chest. “Tommy, how we doing? Can Jon fuck you with that?” 

Tommy squirms. He’s already missing the pressure of Jon’s thigh against his cunt—and he can feel Lovett’s cock against his back, which is, frankly, intoxicating. 

He doesn’t want to talk. He wants to just stretch his thighs open wider and wider until someone _gets the fucking picture_. 

He lifts his face out of Lovett’s throat, though, and forces himself to actually look at Jon. 

Jon, who is his best friend. Who he loves. Who he isn’t afraid of. 

“Please,” he says. 

Jon’s face goes sweet all over. “I’ve got you, Tom,” he murmurs. He runs his free hand down Tommy’s cheek, and slides the toy in steadily, stopping short of the knot. 

Tommy arches in Lovett’s hold, pushing against him, feeling Lovett’s arm secure across his chest, and Jon’s free hand holding his thigh open, the toy thick and good in him, stretching him open where he needs it. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. “_Fuck_—” 

Jon is suddenly closer. He’s leaning into the hand he has on Tommy’s thigh for balance, pushing his leg even wider. Tommy’s hips jerk. He’s at their mercy—and somehow that feels unbearably good, instead of terrifying. 

Jon kisses Tommy’s jaw, and then his open, panting mouth. 

“_Please_, Jon,” Tommy begs quietly, against his lips. Lovett’s scent spikes again.

Jon settles into a hard, even rhythm with the toy that makes Tommy moan into his mouth. His cock dribbles precome all over his stomach.

“Jon,” Lovett murmurs. “You can put the knot in him. He’s been ready.” 

“Oh!” Jon says, comically bright. Lovett laughs, but it turns into a groan when Jon pushes the knot in and Tommy’s scent goes haywire. 

“Yes _yes yes_,” Tommy groans. _God_, the pressure, the way it stretches him wide open—and then, squeezing down, letting himself fixate on _how fucking good it is_ in him. 

Lovett still has an arm across Tommy’s chest, and Tommy clings to it with both hands, needy. Jon’s kissing him and knotting him and it feels good—so, _so _good—but—

Lovett must realize what’s wrong at the same time Tommy does, because he pushes Jon back slightly, and then yanks Tommy’s head to the side. 

Tommy shudders all over, clenching down hard around the knot. 

“Yeah,” Lovett murmurs. “I know you like that.” 

Tommy’s entire cunt clenches. 

He really,_ really_ fucking likes that.

Lovett licks up one side of Tommy’s throat, then the other, covering Tommy in his scent, just the way Tommy needs. Lovett is careful—no teeth. Tommy has asked for scent, and maybe some marks, not a heat bond. 

Lovett detaches one of Tommy’s hands from his arm, and then—jesus—puts Tommy’s fingers in his mouth, sucks on them. Tommy’s cock twitches on his belly.

Lovett releases his hand. “Put it wherever you need it,” he says. His voice is soothing, but his scent is intense and he’s hot and hard against Tommy’s back. “You’re doing so good.” 

Tommy shoves his face into Lovett’s throat, inhaling the scent of him, and runs his wet hand down his sternum. He’s going to get it all over his cock, and then put what’s left inside of him—or at least that’s the plan, but then Jon rocks the knot in him just right, and he gasps and comes, hard, clinging to Lovett and Jon both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: Very brief mention of disordered exercise and eating habits.
> 
> \--
> 
> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has no major archive warnings. If you want more specific, spoilery content warnings for this chapter, check the endnotes!

When Tommy comes back to himself, Lovett is petting his chest and belly in long, even strokes, and Jon is kissing along his cheekbone gently. 

“Hey,” Jon murmurs when he opens his eyes. 

“Hi,” Tommy croaks, and then he blushes heavily. It’s ridiculous, but he feels vulnerable, and sweet, and open. 

Jon kisses him, on the mouth this time. He strokes along Tommy’s cheek, and thumbs at his ear. Tommy—damn these fucking hormones—wants to cry. 

The way they’re touching him—it makes him feel safe, but it’s not just that. He feels cherished. 

Lovett stops petting him and settles his hand low on Tommy’s stomach, possessive. He gives him a gentle shake. “Hey boys,” he says. It’s his teasing _look at my handsome boys_ voice—but it doesn’t feel so much like a joke here, with his scent blanketing them. “This is a prime bath opportunity,” he continues. 

Jon draws back slowly, leaning back in to peck Tommy once more, and then again. 

“Good point,” he says. 

“Chop chop, up you get,” Lovett tells Tommy, but then he lets Tommy stretch and rub his face against Lovett’s chest for a minute. 

It’s awkward to stand. The first problem is that Tommy has an entire dildo in him, and he doesn’t much feel like removing it. 

“Just—hold it in?” Jon offers, noticing Tommy’s awkward half-attempt to stand. “Like, with your hand?” 

“This is so fucking weird,” Tommy says, trying again with his hand between his legs. “Who is this for? What reproductive benefit am I supposed to gain from this?” 

“I don’t think that evolution really factored in the invention of knotting toys,” Lovett says, which is a totally reasonable thing to say in context, except that it makes Tommy picture Lovett on top of him, in him to the root, knotting him, holding Tommy tight to his body every time he tries to move. 

Tommy’s scent does something...interesting. 

Lovett chokes and goes red, which is gratifying. 

The second problem with standing is that Tommy’s legs are shaky. Not in a cute, sexy way. In a ‘I just ran a marathon’ way. He grumbles about it.

Lovett objects, of course—“I’m the _only_ one in this room who has run a marathon”—but then he forces Tommy to steady himself on Lovett’s shoulder for the five steps to the attached bathroom. 

Emily is still in the bathroom, which Tommy had kind of forgotten about. She’s dipping her hand into the bathwater when they all come in. She must have heard—everything. 

Tommy shifts behind Jon a little bit, blushing, even though she just saw him naked while sitting, and being naked while standing isn't really that different. 

“It’s good to go,” she says. “Hot, which will be good for your muscles, Tommy. But you can always put some cold in, if it’s too much.” 

“Thank you,” he says. It feels ludicrous to be polite while holding a dildo inside himself. 

Both Jons help him into the tub, and Emily backs up, perching on the wide counter next to the sink. Tommy lowers himself in, and groans. The water is just barely too hot. It's perfect. He can literally feel his muscles unclenching. 

He’s exhausted, all of a sudden, which checks out. He really has done the sexual equivalent of running a marathon this afternoon.

God—had he slept at all, when he went into heat as a teenager? People can’t just _not sleep_ for ten days, but he doesn’t remember resting. He must have passed out a few times. Worn himself out. 

He remembers suddenly, viscerally, screaming, with his face pressed against the floor in the corner of the room, unable to get away from his own body. The corner is dusty. He breathes in, after the scream, and chokes, and sneezes out some dust. The sneeze is the first recognizable thing his body has done in days. 

He’d cried for a while, after that. He’d been so lonely, and scared. 

He’d wanted to die. 

“Tommy?” Jon is suddenly right in front of him. He’s touching Tommy’s hand. “Hey. Are you okay?” 

“Oh,” Tommy says. His brain tunes back in—sort of like when he’s driving, coming back into broadcast range of a radio station, and it switches from static to clear music. “I think so,” he says. 

“You started crying,” Emily says. 

Tommy can feel it on his own face, now that she mentions it. 

Lovett comes over and perches on the lip of the tub. “Hey, is this not working? If this is too much, we can back off. Four people in one bathroom is a lot.”

That is literally the _one_ thing Tommy doesn’t want from them. So that’s...something he knows about himself now. 

“We can definitely give you privacy,” Lovett is saying. “You’re an adult, I trust you not to drown. But like, maybe we put your phone in here with you in case of emergency, and—”

“Please don’t,” Tommy says. He knuckles the tears off his face with his free hand. 

“Don’t?” Lovett repeats. 

“Don’t leave,” he says. 

Lovett swallows. “Okay,” he says. “Hey. Of course, Tommy.” 

He pets Tommy’s hair while Tommy gathers himself. The repetition is soothing and makes Tommy even sleepier.

“Can we slow things down now?” Tommy asks. “This is the calmest I’ve felt since it started, I think.” 

“You mean—marks?” Emily asks. She hops off her perch, and joins the other two at the lip of the tub. She scritches her fingers through Jon’s hair, which makes him half-close his eyes in pleasure. 

She and Jon aren’t super private, but Tommy doesn’t usually see them quite like this. He likes it. He likes knowing all the little ways they fit together. 

“Yeah, I guess. You said it can help,” Tommy says. 

“Honestly, I’m impressed that you retained that,” Lovett says, his lips quirking in a cautious grin. 

“I’m down,” Jon says, with a glance at Emily. “Tom, can I get in?” 

Tommy hadn’t thought about the logistics. “Sure,” he says. 

He scoots forward. Jon slides in behind him, keeping his boxer-briefs on. 

“Is this okay?” Jon says. He stretches his legs out, so that Tommy is between them. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, gingerly trying to find a comfortable way to sit. 

“You don’t have to—just, like—” Jon says, and then he has one hand on Tommy’s stomach and the other on his shoulder. He pulls Tommy back until his back is pressed to Jon’s chest. 

Jon is half-hard, and apparently content with it. Laying at his angle, Tommy would probably slip right down into the water if there weren’t a nice cushy, grippy bathtub mat, and if Jon weren’t holding him against his body. 

They settle in. Jon strokes a thumb over Tommy’s collarbone, which sends a little jolt down Tommy’s spine. Just a little one, though—not the ripcord of another wave of heat. 

Tommy nuzzles his nose into Jon’s throat instinctively, scenting him. Maybe it’s the steam from the bath, or just that he has his nose shoved right in Jon’s throat, but all he can smell now is Jon. He can’t smell Lovett or Emily. He can’t even smell himself. It’s more soothing than he expected. His heart rate slows. 

He squeezes down on the silicone toy, still inside him. His right hand is still holding the base, lightly, keeping it in. It feels good, without demanding anything more from him. 

Oh—Tommy loves this. He _loves_ this. 

He keeps pressing his face into Jon’s throat for a little while, occasionally licking at him, feeling...hmm. Somewhere between dazed and meditative, maybe. 

The thought_ Beta pheromones are fucking weird_ drifts across his brain. 

That thought, more than anything, makes him remember that Lovett and Emily are here too. Hazily, he looks up, and then startles a little when he finds both of them watching him and Jon intently. They’re holding hands. 

“Hmm?” Tommy manages. He’s really tired now. Words are a lot. 

“Hnrghh?” Emily replies, choked. 

Very little can keep Lovett from talking. “Watching this is hitting a biological button I honestly didn’t think I had,” he says. 

Jon chuckles, his chest vibrating under Tommy. “Glad to be part of your journey of self-discovery, Lovett.” 

“Oh, fuck off, like you’re not enjoying this,” Lovett laughs. 

“Tommy actually relaxing?” Jon asks. “Yeah, dude, I’ve been trying to figure out how to help him sleep since like 2006.” 

Lovett snorts. “Yeah, cute. How about Tommy getting high on your pheromones, huh?” 

“It’s pretty good,” Jon replies. He sounds all cool and casual, but there’s a huge grin on his face. 

Emily lets out a choked little groan. 

“You okay there, buddy?” Lovett asks her, squeezing her hand. 

“Yep,” she ekes out. 

“You’re not about to grab Favreau here and sexually destroy him?” Lovett follows up. 

She wiggles a bit and then rips her eyes away from where Tommy is licking neatly under Jon’s jaw. “I’m considering it, but it’s not a top priority,” she says, prim. 

Lovett and Jon both laugh. “Okay, okay, you’ve proved yourself,” Lovett says. “Good job with the full sentence.” 

Jon squeezes Tommy. “Hey. How are you doing down there?” 

Tommy extricates himself. He’d just begun a thorough investigation of where Jon’s jaw and ear meet, but he can go back to that in a minute. “This is good,” he says. 

“Yeah?” Jon says. 

“Yeah. Thanks for getting me high on your pheromones,” he replies. 

Jon really laughs this time, tossing his head back, sloshing the water a little. “You still want marks?” he asks. 

Tommy ducks his face back into Jon’s throat to consider. “Do I need them?” he asks. “I feel—I mean, I feel a little turned on, but pretty calm.” 

“It’s up to you,” Jon says. 

“It might stave off the next wave longer,” Lovett says. “But just this seems to be helping too, so.” 

“...Do you think, if we did it, I’d be able to take a nap?” Tommy asks. “I’m so tired.”

Lovett and Emily look at one another. Lovett shrugs and turns back to Tommy. “Hard to say, but it’s worth a try,” he says. 

“I agree,” Emily says. “It shouldn’t hurt.” 

“Okay,” Tommy murmurs, relaxing back against Jon’s chest. “Let’s do it.” 

Jon squeezes him. “Em?” he says. 

“Like I said—go for places that don’t turn him on,” she says. “Avoid his neck and throat, of course, and don’t break through the skin. You’re not trying to heat-bond him.” 

Jon scoots them so that they’re sitting up a little more. “Your shoulder, Tommy?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “I mean, not anywhere near my neck, that seems pretty guaranteed to set me off again.” 

“Noted,” Jon says. “I meant, like, here?” He touches where Tommy’s arm and shoulder meet. 

“Sure,” Tommy says. 

“Okay,” Jon replies, sounding a little nervous. 

Emily reaches over, and gently strokes a hand through Jon’s hair. “You’re not going to hurt him, babe.” 

“Okay,” Jon repeats, and then he leans forward and sets his teeth in Tommy’s deltoid. 

For the first few seconds, Tommy doesn’t think it’s doing that much. Then he realizes that the only thing he’s really hearing is his own heartbeat in his ears, and the only thing he’s really feeling is his heartbeat against Jon’s teeth in his shoulder. The rest of his body feels—fuzzy, far away. 

After a moment, Jon unlatches, and licks over the bite. 

Tommy makes a little protesting noise in the back of his throat, and Jon says, “Okay, Tom.” He bites again, a little further down the deltoid, toward Tommy’s elbow. He doesn’t break the skin, but he bites down a little harder this time. It makes Tommy feel narrow and focused and limp, all his attention on where Jon’s teeth are in him. 

He does feel pretty turned on, actually, but it’s not like heat at all. It’s distant and warm and even, flowing over and then past him, like a strong wind on a hot day. 

His eyes have closed. He’s not going to worry about anything, just now. Jon bites him again, this time on his shoulder blade. He can feel Jon’s teeth, present and immediate, taking all his attention but nothing more. The sweetness of his mouth, licking over him, soothing. Another bite now, the top of his shoulder. Another, just next to it, overlapping. Another, on his bicep. 

Tommy goes limp, slumping back against Jon, dislodging him. 

“Tommy?” Jon says. 

He’s going to sleep, maybe, sunk down to that place just before he drops off, where his brain is drifting free of his body and it would take effort to reconnect them enough to move or speak.

“Keep going, I think,” Lovett says quietly, far away. 

Jon holds Tommy tight to him with one arm, and uses his free hand to lift Tommy’s arm. He neatly bites the muscle of Tommy’s forearm. Then, just above his elbow. Then, delicately, his hand. 

Tommy is so close to sleep, can feel it pulling him down. Is this safe? They’re in the bath. 

He tries to ask if they have to move, but it comes out as a hum. He didn’t manage to move his tongue or open his mouth. 

“Go to sleep, Tommy,” Jon murmurs. “I’ve got you.” He kisses Tommy’s palm, and then bites him again. 

Tommy’s gone. 

* * * 

“Hanna!” 

Emily’s voice, through the doorway. 

Tommy comes awake all at once, bolting upright—sloshing water?—because they’re in the bathtub, right. Jon is still behind him, sitting upright now too, his hands on Tommy’s waist. Lovett, who had been sitting on the closed toilet lid, jolts to his feet. 

“Yes, yes, yes, he’s okay, we have him, he’s right here,” Emily is saying, and then she’s stepping into the bathroom with Tommy’s phone in her hand. 

Tommy feels split in two—half an irrational but intense, horrible, sinking disappointment that Hanna herself isn’t _here_—half floating, amazed, relieved: he gets to talk to her. 

“He’s right here,” Emily says again, and then she hands the phone to Tommy. 

“Tommy!” 

The connection is shitty, but that’s Hanna’s voice. He goes warm tip to toe. 

“Tommy, did it start? Are you okay? I’m so sorry—if I’d known—” 

“I’m okay,” he says. His voice is slow and raspy with sleep. “Well—”

God. He feels like he needs talking points. He feels like he should have read about twenty-five whitepapers to get ready for this conversation. 

“Tell me,” Hanna says. “Your texts—has it started? What’s going on?” 

“It, um, it started. It started this afternoon,” Tommy replies. 

“Four hours ago,” Lovett informs him, quietly. 

“Lovett says four hours ago,” Tommy repeats into the phone. 

“Is Lovett there?” Hanna asks. Then, “Lovett and Emily. Oh, thank god. Thank god.” 

Tommy feels strange, stretched and tight, like a sail suddenly pulled taut. 

“Jon’s here too,” he says. He realizes his jaw is shaking when Jon starts rubbing his hands up and down Tommy’s arms.

“Oh, Tommy,” Hanna says over the staticky line. “Thank god.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. It rushes out of him without permission, miserable and bare. “I’m so sorry, Hanna, I didn’t want—” but he cuts himself off before he can finish the thought. 

He did want Lovett, and Jon, and Emily. He _does_ want them. 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Hanna replies, fiercely. “Tommy, you do _anything_ you need to do right now.” 

He breathes. He’s still shaking. Jon presses a dry kiss to his spine. 

“Are you okay?” Hanna says. 

“I’m—kind of,” he replies. “Hanna. Do you. They.” He tries to breathe, but it’s a shivery mess. “They’ve been—they’re helping. Lovett and Jon, um, got me off a few times. Not with—I didn’t—just with, you know, toys. And Jon. He bit me, for a while—I mean, not—you know, just to calm me down.”

“That’s okay, Tommy,” Hanna replies. The line is crackly. He wishes he could see her face. “That’s good.”

“I kissed Jon,” Tommy says, like ripping off a bandaid. “I didn’t—_have_ to. Kiss him. But I did.” 

“That’s _good_, Tommy,” she says. He’s still shaking. Is she upset? It’s so hard to tell over the shitty connection. He hates making her cry more than almost anything. 

Hanna isn’t the type to avoid hard conversations or cut corners. She wouldn’t lie to him. 

Would she lie to him under these circumstances, though, to make him feel better in the middle of a crisis? 

“Oh my god. I have to sit down,” she says, sounding winded. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, anxious. 

“I’m going to pass the fuck out,” she says. 

He instinctively tries to stand before remembering that (a) she is in Papua New Guinea, and (b) he has a dildo inside, which makes standing...different. 

He puts his butt back down in the tub. The dildo feels uncomfortable now—too hard, and weirdly angled—so he pulls it out with a wince. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” comes her staticky voice, directed away from the phone. Then, to him, “We came into the city and your texts came through all at once and—and I called right away but the call kept dropping, and—” 

Now she’s definitely crying. 

“I’m so sorry, Hanna,” he says. He’s going to cry too, he can feel it hot and prickly behind his eyes. 

“_Don’t_ you apologize to me,” she says through tears. “I _left _you. Your texts—I’ve never been that scared in my life.” 

“Are you safe?” he asks her. “Please don’t pass out.” 

“I’m fine,” she says. “My parents just hustled me into a restaurant so I could sit down in the air conditioning.” 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to reach you,” she goes on. “I was so afraid it had started and you were just tearing yourself apart alone, and I’m too far away to do anything.” 

“No,” he says. “No, that didn’t happen, I promise.” He swallows. “They’ve got me,” he says.

He looks up to find Lovett and Emily both watching him. Jon is still slowly rubbing his hands up and down Tommy’s biceps. 

“I want you here more than anything. But. Until then. They’ve got me,” he says, looking at them all in turn. 

Now all of them are crying. What a mess they all are, he thinks, with deep gratitude. 

“Okay,” Hanna says, “okay okay okay,” shakily, pulling herself together.

“Is it really all right with you?” he asks, ducking his head back down, pretending they don’t have an audience. “I didn’t—I never. Hanna. I would never. If you were here.” 

“Yes,” she says. She takes a deep, staticky breath. He can tell she wants to be steady for him; it makes him ache for her. “Tommy. You should do whatever you want to do. With whoever you want to do it.” 

His cunt clenches hard, and his heart pounds. _Calm the fuck down_, he tells his body.

“Do you hear me, Tommy?” she says.

“Yes,” he replies. 

“I’m _not_ telling you to do _as little as possible_ _to survive_,” Hanna says, fiercely, because she knows him, to his bones. “I’m telling you—god. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to help. I don’t even know what you _want_ when you’re in heat.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, unable to tamp it down. 

“Don’t start that again,” she scolds. He can tell she's trying to joke, to lighten his mood, but her voice is too gentle. It's not funny—it's just kind. She pauses. “Do _you_ know what you want?”

He makes a sort of strangled whine. 

“You can ask me,” she offers. 

“I’m kind of figuring it out as I go,” he says, and realizes as it’s coming out of his mouth that he’s hedging. 

Seven hours ago, sure, he had no clue what he would need. 

He has some pretty firm ideas now. 

“Hmmm,” she replies, because she knows each and every corner of his bullshit. 

“I mean, I know I—” but, darting a glance up at the other people in the bathroom, he can’t finish the sentence, it’s too fucking embarassing to say out loud in front of his best friends. 

“Tommy?” Hanna says. 

Tommy rests his forehead on his raised knees, blushing to high heaven. 

He has to ask her. He has to. He owes it to her, and to himself.

“I’ve been wanting Lovett to knot me for like four hours,” he forces out, ignoring Lovett’s sharp intake of breath beside him. Jon grips Tommy’s arms.

“Yes,” Hanna says. 

“Are you sure?” Tommy replies, his voice cracking. 

“_Yes_, Tommy. Yes. What else?” 

“God,” he says. He can feel the heat in his cheeks and down his whole front, now. What has he ever done to deserve a partner like her? 

“What else?” she repeats. 

He swallows hard. “And—Jon and Emily?” he asks. 

Jon kisses his spine, sweetly. Tommy shivers. 

“Anything, Tommy,” Hanna replies, gently. “With any of them.”

Tommy lifts his head to give Emily an apologetic look as he says, “Even Emily?” 

Emily nods, with a small smile, and reaches out to grip Tommy’s shoulder encouragingly. 

It mostly makes him want to put her fingers in his mouth, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

“Tommy, yes,” Hanna says, forcefully. “You have nothing to prove to me.” There’s a pause. “Listen,” she adds, “I’m careful with Jon and Em, because I never want you to worry about it. I know you’re the same with Emily. Right?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, quiet. 

How have he and Hanna never talked about this? They should have talked about this years ago.

“I get it, okay? We’ll talk. We should talk about it. But I’m telling you, it’s good,” she says. “There’s nobody I trust more in the _world_ than you and Emily.” 

“What about Jon and Lovett?” he tries to joke. “And Ronan?”

“Ehhh. Sure, but they’re all tied for second,” she laughs. He _loves _her laugh.

He breathes a few times. 

This is going to be okay. He did not blow up his marriage. He did not irrevocably hurt the best person in his life. 

He just has to get through a heat or two, and they can go back to normal. It’s going to be fine. 

Fear climbs up his throat and out of his mouth: “Are you going to come back?” he asks. 

He knows—of course he knows—that she will. She will. He knows she will. 

“As soon as I get off the phone with you, I’m going to figure out flights,” Hanna says. 

“Okay,” he says. He’s shaking again. He thinks it’s relief.

“It’s probably going to take a while,” she says. 

“I know,” he croaks. 

“Even under the best circumstances, it would be at least 24 hours,” she says. “Last-minute like this—I don’t know. The connecting flights are going to be a mess. I’m going to do it as fast as I possibly can, okay?” 

“Yes. Okay,” he says. And then, “Hanna. Thank you. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“I’m sorry for ruining your vacation,” he says, with a weak laugh, trying not to let on that he’s having a minor breakdown. 

“I swear to _god_ if you beat yourself up over this,” she replies, laughing a little, or crying, it’s hard to tell over the staticky connection. “God, it’s probably my fault for leaving in the first place. Not to be gross. Just, you know—pheromones.”

“It’s definitely that, and also I’ve been on the same suppressants for a couple decades,” he replies. “I went to the clinic.” 

“Quite a pickle, huh,” she says. 

He laughs again, feeling lighter. She’s magic. God, he loves her. “You could say that.” 

“I’m so glad that you’re with Em and Jon and Lovett,” she says. “I know it’s not ideal, but if there’s anybody I’d trust to take care of you, it’s them.” 

“Yeah,” he says, looking up at them. “Me too.” 

For the first time since he almost passed out yesterday, everything feels right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: A character has a brief but intense trauma flashback. (The flashback doesn't happen during sex, and there's no sexual assault.) In the context of that flashback, a character remembers feeling suicidal. (No specifics, and no attempted suicide.)
> 
> \--
> 
> FYI: There will (almost certainly) not be an update next weekend. I'll be traveling for a friend's wedding! But the weekend after that, I'll be back.
> 
> \--
> 
> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :) 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has no major archive warnings, and there are no content warnings for this chapter.

The call drops midsentence not long after, which is painful but feels fair enough. Twenty minutes actually talking to Hanna is more than he expected to get. They might be able to get her on the line again, he tells himself, especially once she gets to a major airport. 

He resists the urge to start counting down the minutes until she gets here. It could be days yet. 

Emily takes the phone gently out of his hand and puts it on the counter, safely away from any water disasters. She plugs it in to charge, too. Always a planner, their Emily. 

“So...wow, we all got the Hanna Koch Vietor seal of approval?” Lovett asks, his bouncing leg belying the joking tone. 

“Yes,” Tommy says. 

It feels strangely vulnerable to look at them, even after the day they’ve had, in this brave new world where they’re allowed to not just help Tommy out, but fully and completely fuck. 

...They’re _going_ to fuck. 

Tommy’s cunt is pretty conclusive on this point. 

Emily must be feeling the same tension, because she says to Lovett, “You know, I told you like seven _years_ ago that you were going to be sucked into this sisterwives situation.”

“Remember how I argued, so compellingly, that the six of us could never actually form a commune because (a) half of us are in politics, and Ronan’s Ronan, so holy shit overall, and (b) the dynamics balance would be too crazy?” Lovett says. 

“Yeah. I think that was around the same time you said I was tempting you to wickedness,” Emily smirks. 

“Right. So, now that I know how Tommy’s heats are, I think that a 4:1:1 ratio is probably all the Omega we could collectively handle,” Lovett says. 

It’s just a joke. Just a—funny little implication. 

Tommy feels like his entire body is on fire. 

“I love being right,” Emily laughs.

“Tom, are you okay?” Jon asks. 

Tommy’s head is fully between his knees. He must be blushing red all down his back for Jon to see. 

“Uh huh,” he replies. 

“You sure, buddy?” Jon says. 

“In the interest of full transparency, I should tell you I’m pretty sure I’m starting another round,” he says. 

Jon squeezes his arm. And yep, definitely heat—Jon’s touch has gone from calming to electrifying. “Yikes,” Jon says, calmly, backing off right away. “There goes naptime, huh?” 

“Adios to naptime,” Tommy agrees. He squeezes down around nothing. He’s so—empty, fuck. 

“Let’s dry you off and take you back to bed,” Lovett says. “That sound good?”

They dry him off and take him back to bed. It’s starting to feel a little familiar. It definitely feels—safe. 

Tommy wants to lay down on his belly and put his ass up and wait for somebody to take initiative, but instead he sits up at the head of the bed, like an adult. 

He tries to come up with words to ask for what he wants, unimpeded by fears about what he can’t have. 

“Uh. Can we—” Tommy starts, haltingly, but he’s interrupted by two phones ringing at once. One is Jon’s phone, on the nightstand, and the other is Lovett’s special Ronan ringtone, emanating from his sweatpants pocket. 

“Uh oh,” Lovett says. 

“What?” Tommy asks, rocking down against his heel. 

“I sent Ronan a cryptic text while he was on a plane and then didn’t update him for four hours,” Lovett says, climbing off the bed. “He probably thinks I’ve been kidnapped, so—just give me a—” He takes the call. “Hey, Ronan.” He hops out of the room and toes the door shut delicately. 

Jon has silenced the ringing but is staring at his phone screen. “Meanwhile, I _did_ tell Em what was going on—” 

“—thanks babe—” 

“—but not a single one of us thought to update anybody at Crooked, so now Dan’s calling,” Jon continues. “I also have missed calls from...you know...a dozen or so of our staff.” 

“Yikes,” Emily says. 

Tommy, who tossed a small portion of his shame out the window sometime in the past few hours, slips three fingers inside to give himself a little time before he starts going truly crazy. 

“They must know already,” Tommy says, with difficulty. “Ira and Kara, for sure. I’m sure Tanya figured it out. I—wasn’t subtle.” 

Jon winces. “Yeah. Okay, Tom, you’re in no state to do crisis communications right now, so let’s not do that. Give me five minutes to talk to Dan?” 

Tommy feels his stomach twist. He wants all of them right here with him. 

“I”ll come right back,” Jon says. “Promise.” 

“And I’ll be here with you,” Emily tells Tommy. She scooches closer, but doesn’t touch him. “If you want.” 

Tommy swallows hard. “I do want that, Em,” he says quietly. 

“Good,” Jon says. He kisses Emily soundly, and kisses Tommy too, lingering as Tommy keeps stretching taller and taller to keep his mouth on Jon’s. 

“All right, that’s enough,” Jon says, grinning right up against Tommy’s lips, and as if on cue, Emily reaches up and grips Tommy’s hair, pulling him slowly away.

“_Fuck_,” Tommy gasps. “Emily.” He tucks a fourth finger into his cunt, feeling wild, feeling past ready for it.

“Goddamn,” Jon says quietly, looking at them, and then he too slips out the door, phone in hand. 

“Emily,” Tommy says again. He’s not sure he’s going to come up with any more words. 

“Tell me,” Emily says. She gentles her grip, and rakes her nails gently through his hair instead. Tommy shudders all over, and feels how he’s wet all down the insides of his thighs. 

He can’t fucking speak. He takes his fingers out of himself, and sinks back on the bed, spreading his legs. 

Emily’s scent, which had been building steadily, flashes hot, like stepping barefoot on asphalt. Tommy’s skin prickles all over. He can’t look away from her. 

“God, Tommy,” she whispers. She’s flushed now too, her hair sticking to her cheeks and throat. “Can I?” 

He wants her clit in him to the fucking root. All he can manage is, “_Uh huh_.” 

She presses one of his thighs even wider, and leans down to lick up the center of him. 

He _yells_. 

She does it again, slower this time, then raises her head half an inch. Her hair is a mess, and her mouth is shining with his slick. “Good?” she says. 

“In in _in in_ _in_,” he gasps. 

“_God_, Tommy. I knew you’d taste good,” she says, and then she slides her tongue into him. She cups his leaking cock with her free hand, like she’s trying to gentle him through it, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he feels right now.

Tommy whines, and pulls at her shoulder. Her mouth is so fucking good, perfect, relentless, but all he can think is that he wants more of her in him, wants it deeper and harder and thicker. 

She digs her nails into his thigh where she’s holding his leg open, and he moans, opening his legs even wider, pressing his hole against her mouth. She pauses, and lifts her face again. 

Her mouth and chin are fucking covered in his slick, which is gonna make Tommy pass out if he thinks about it too much. And, he realizes—he realizes—

She’s been pushing her scent straight into him. Straight into him, from her mouth to his cunt.

Tommy twitches hard around nothing, and watches her watch him leak wet all over the bedsheets. 

“Please,” Tommy rasps, looking at her. “Please, _please_—"

“Good boy,” she murmurs—automatically, like she's used to it—and then she slides four fingers into him all at once.

He locks down around her knuckles and comes right away, arching up helplessly and gasping for air. 

“Oh,” Emily says quietly, sounding stunned. Her scent is so thick around them; he feels suspended in a bubble of her. 

He’s still panting when she starts to draw back. “No, Em—” he says, and she freezes, the tips of her fingers still in him. “Will you—? Emily?” 

He can’t say it. How can he ask her for more? 

“Yes. Yes. Tell me,” she says.

“Will you put your—um. Your hand, in me, please Emily. Please,” he begs, out of his mind with it. 

“Christ,” she says slowly, “you’re trouble.” But then she’s smiling at him. She sits up a little, and switches her grip from his thigh to his hip. 

“Please Emily,” he says again. He’s still twitching on her fingertips. 

She presses back in, then tucks her thumb into her palm and pushes. The widest part, around her knuckles and thumb, slides in easily, with a satisfying stretch. She’s in him to the wrist in about ten seconds flat. 

“Fuck,” she breathes. She looks up at him, mouth wet, eyes wild. “I've never—holy _fuck_, Tommy.” 

“Can you—?” 

She gets it. Inside him, she slowly moves her hand from a beak shape into a fist. 

“_Shit_,” he gasps. He’s not sure he actually came down from his last orgasm, but he’s sure as hell on edge again now. He tilts his hips a little and, when that feels fucking perfect, rocks against her. 

She starts to move with him, but he shakes his head wordlessly. She stills, letting him get her fist exactly where he wants it. 

He loves feeling her pressing him open. He loves squeezing down around her. And when he tightens down around her and tilts his hips just right, it feels like she’s knotting him and he’s locking around her, which sends him straight back to the fucking stratosphere. 

He comes back to himself some indeterminate amount of time later. He’s shivering a little. Emily’s fist is still in him, but she’s leaning over him, stroking his chest and belly with her free hand. Or, she’s actually...smearing his own come all over his belly, he slowly realizes. 

“Hey,” she says. “You in there?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, and then blushes at how destroyed his voice sounds. Which is ridiculous, since, again, (he reminds himself,) _her entire hand is inside him_. “How long was I, uh, out of it?” 

“Just a few minutes,” she replies, and then blushes just as hard as he’s blushing. 

“Oh my god, Emily,” he says, and starts to laugh. 

She starts laughing too, and leans down, before freezing. “Oh—can I?” 

He comes up on his elbows, and kisses her, gently at first, and then deeply, drinking her in. 

His scent is all over her, and hers is as deep into him as she could get it. Well, as deep as she could get it without putting her clit in him. He feels himself twitch around her fist. 

She draws back. “Slow your roll there, Vietor,” she says, laughing. “Man. I’m gonna sign Hanna up for a strength training class.”

“What?” Tommy says, more than a little distracted. He rocks against her a little. 

“If you go again right now, I’m going to pull all the muscles in my arm fucking you,” Emily laughs.

Tommy lets himself fall back onto the bed, laughing and covering his face with his hands. 

“No no no, don’t be embarrassed,” Emily protests. She pulls one of his hands away, and kisses his bright red cheek. “You’re so strong. You’re amazing.” 

Tommy can literally feel himself get warmer. 

“Em, you’re going to _send_ me into another round if you talk like that,” he says. 

“Oooo,” she grins, leaning back. “Dilemma.” 

“Can I help?” comes Jon’s voice out of absolutely nowhere. 

Tommy startles, and feels Emily do the same. Jon is leaning against the wall, near the door. 

“How long have you been there?” Tommy asks. 

“Long enough to see your first kiss,” Jon says. His smile is pure sunshine. Tommy feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. 

Jon hops back onto the bed, and kisses each of them in turn. “I love you,” he says.

“Jon,” Emily says, and tilts her face up to him so he’ll kiss her a while longer. 

Jon sits back with a hard exhale. “You ate him out,” he says. “I can, uh.” 

Emily grins, sharp. “You can taste it.” 

“Uh huh,” Jon says. He blushes. Beneath Emily’s thick, hot scent, Tommy can smell Jon’s expanding.

With an air of ritual, Jon gathers Emily’s messy hair off her face and neck. He takes the hairband off her wrist and ties off a neat ponytail. He can’t seem to stop touching her face and neck. 

“I love you two, but this is gonna set me off again too,” Tommy interrupts. “And I don’t actually want to tear up Em’s triceps.” 

“Good point,” Jon says cheerfully, backing off, though he’s visibly hard in his boxer-briefs. 

“How about I, uh, reclaim my hand, and we put a knotting toy in you to tide you over?” Emily says. 

“Great. Love it. And, just a quick sidebar: this is very surreal,” Tommy says.

“You’re telling me,” Emily laughs, as she slowly moves her hand back into a beak shape inside him. “At least you had some sense of what was going on! Last night, Lovett and I were joking about breaking into your house to check on you because you might be sick—and today you show up on my doorstep with like twenty minutes’ warning, in full heat.” She pulls her the widest part of her hand out of him, slowly, stroking her other thumb along his half-hard cock to soothe him through the discomfort. 

“I’m sorry, Emily,” he says, feeling bereft of her, and ashamed that he hadn’t trusted himself to go to them, all of them, earlier. 

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” Emily says. She goes to run a hand through his hair but stops abruptly—one of her hands is soaking wet with his slick, and the other is half-covered in his tacky come. 

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, and can’t help but laugh. 

Jon’s laughing too. “Go wash up, babe,” he says. “I’ve got him.” 

Tommy feels very small, and warm, and held. He sinks back into the bed, gazing up at Jon. 

He thinks, _fuck it_, and lets himself say it: “You’ve got me?” 

“Yes,” Jon replies, looking down at him just as intently. He leans down and kisses Tommy for a little while, then rubs his cheeks and jaw over Tommy’s, intermingling their scents. 

“Jon,” Tommy whispers, feeling dizzy with him. 

Jon sits back. “You want to keep it slow, right?” he says. His eyes are dark, intent. He thumbs over Tommy’s cheek, and it feels like actual electricity. “You don’t want to go again right away?” 

“I, uh.” Tommy swallows. 

He feels hot all over, and he doesn’t want to use up all his energy trying to fight it off. 

They’re in a strange new world where he’s allowed to want Jon to fuck him. He’s even allowed to _ask_ Jon to fuck him. “I could be convinced,” he finally says. 

Jon’s eyes go even darker, and he leans down again, licking into Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy is acutely aware of how empty he is. He wants Jon closer—wants Jon’s weight on him, now, and his cock inside. 

He’s going to have to say it.

“On top of me,” he murmurs against Jon’s cheek. He tugs at Jon’s shoulder. “Jon.” 

“Yeah?” Jon says. He shifts so that he’s between Tommy’s spread legs, and they both groan when he rests his weight on Tommy. The skin contact alone makes Tommy feel fucking high, let alone feeling Jon’s boxer-brief-covered cock resting right up against his cunt. 

Tommy wraps his arms around Jon’s neck and hooks his ankles behind Jon’s back. 

“You don’t want me going anywhere, huh?” Jon teases, soft. “I know what that’s like.” 

Tommy could probably manage to make words now if he really tried, but he doesn’t want to. He just moans, and grinds against Jon’s cock, working them both up. He’s dripping wet. Jon’s underwear, and his cock beneath it, are soaked in no time. 

“This is exactly what I’m like when Emily puts me on my back,” Jon tells him. 

Someone inhales sharply, and they look over to see Emily herself two steps out of the bathroom. 

“Jesus,” she says. “I mean, don’t let me interrupt.” 

Tommy whines, low and sweet. He nips a little at Jon’s throat. He probably should have asked first, he realizes when it makes Jon’s hips snap, and Jon and Emily both groan. 

“I told him, he’s trouble,” Emily says, closer now. 

“That’s one word for him,” Jon murmurs. He rests his weight on one elbow and reaches down, between them, to cup his whole big hand over Tommy’s cunt. 

“Jon,” Tommy gasps. 

“Yeah?” Jon replies, stroking over his entrance, making Tommy tighten his legs around Jon’s waist, squeezing him closer. 

“Please,” Tommy says. “Jon. Please fuck me.” 

“Yeah?” Jon asks. He dips two fingers inside, then three. 

Tommy’s moaning; he’s trying to get Jon deeper; he feels unsatisfied, overheated, crazy. 

“No,” he gasps, finally. “I want—”

Jon pauses, his fingers still resting inside. He kisses Tommy’s jaw. 

“I’m right here,” he says. 

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. Why this, of all things, after everything they’ve done together? Why is this still so hard to ask for? 

“Please, Jon,” he says, in Jon’s ear. “Please, will you put your cock in me.” 

Jon inhales sharply, and kisses him, which only makes it feel more like Tommy is being slowly boiled alive. He moans into Jon’s mouth, and tightens his ankles around Jon’s back. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay,” Jon murmurs against his lips. He tries to draw back, just enough to get his underwear off, but Tommy’s pulling at him, clinging to him, not giving him an inch. 

“Here—” comes Emily’s voice, and then she’s yanking Jon’s boxer-briefs down just enough, and stroking over Tommy’s face and shoulders, gentling him, giving him her scent, settling his shoulders into her lap—and Jon is sinking his cock deep into him. 

Tommy moans, and then he’s crying with relief, and then there are four hands on his thighs, prying them open, because he’s squeezing Jon to him so hard that Jon is wheezing for breath. 

“I know, I know,” Jon murmurs, when he gets his breath back. But he _doesn’t_ know, Tommy thinks. He couldn’t possibly know. Jon says, “I know, Tommy. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” and Tommy is crying and clinging to him and overall being very wet and needy. 

“Shhh,” Emily says. She thumbs tears off his cheeks once, and again, until his breathing evens out. 

Jon rakes a hand through Tommy’s hair, and pets Emily’s thigh for good measure. 

“Can I—?” Jon asks. He pulls his hips back and then sinks in to the root again. 

Tommy’s breath shudders out of him. He nods. 

Jon kisses Tommy once, twice, gives him his cock again and again. He sets up an even rhythm, hard enough to jolt Tommy into Emily every time—enough to make him gasp. 

Tommy tries to cling again, forgetting that he basically choked Jon out last time, but Jon pushes his thigh open, and Emily pulls one of his hands off Jon’s shoulder and holds it in her own. Tommy is getting held down and pried open and fucked—and—and he—

He wants to keep doing this forever.

His body has other ideas. He tries to lock around Jon, and fails because Jon doesn’t have a knot for him to lock down on. He tries again anyway. After a few rounds of this, Jon slows, and kisses Tommy, and says unevenly, “Tom? Are you?” 

Tommy moans helplessly, and shakes his head. He’s on the edge of coming, so much so that the pleasure is becoming unbearable. The last thing he wants on the entire earth is for Jon to not be inside him. But he doesn’t think he’ll get there, not without something to lock around. 

Jon tries to push up onto his elbows, but Tommy yanks him back in with a wordless noise of protest, arching his body against Jon’s, trying to lock him again, tightening down hard, and then harder. 

Jon chokes, and gasps, and grinds deep, coming inside him. Tommy feels so hot, inside and out, and he moans again, frustrated. 

“Very demanding, our Tommy,” Emily says, but she must get it, because her hand is wet with her slick; she spreads her scent all over his throat and chest. A couple seconds later, Jon pulls out (Tommy protests strenuously) and immediately pushes a knotting toy into him, relentless, keeping up the pressure as Tommy whines and then yells, coming hard, his whole body tensing up. 

He comes back to himself a while later. 

He feels warm. He feels heavy, and full. He blinks his eyes open, which takes a couple of tries. 

He has shifted onto his stomach, and he’s hemmed in by Jon and Emily. 

Jon is laying on his side, half on Tommy’s back, his head nestled in Tommy’s neck and one leg between Tommy’s. Tommy can feel Jon’s even breath on his chest: warm, then still, then warm, then still again. 

Jon’s hand is warm too, gently cupping Tommy’s cunt. The bottom of Jon’s palm rests at the base of Tommy’s spent cock. The end of the toy, still inside, sits against Jon’s long fingers. 

Emily must be feeling incredibly indulgent, Tommy thinks: she’s a back sleeper, but she’s curled up on her side, knees bent, with one hand resting on Jon’s arm. He can’t tell whether she’s awake.

“Mmm?” Tommy manages. 

Jon must have fallen asleep, because he’s blinking himself awake now. Tommy knows it takes him a few tries—he can feel Jon’s eyelashes brushing the back of his neck. 

“You should sleep, if you can sleep,” Jon murmurs. “Your body needs the rest.” 

Tommy does feel heavy, and warm, and immovable. 

“We’re right here,” Emily says. 

They _are_ right here, Tommy thinks, with a sense of wonder. They’re right here. 

He’s asleep before he can worry about anything else. 

* * * 

When he shifts in his sleep a little later, he comes just awake enough to notice Lovett’s scent. He hums happily, and turns in Lovett’s arms, hitching his hips lazily against Lovett’s thigh and tucking his face into Lovett’s throat. 

Lovett runs a hand through Tommy’s hair and murmurs something, sweet and low. Later, Tommy realizes that he said “Sleep, baby.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has no major archive warnings, and there are no content warnings for this chapter.

The next time he wakes up, he’s sweating and his cunt is throbbing. Not just his cunt, even—his cock too, and all down his thighs, and up through his belly into his throat. 

It’s dark now. The brightest things in the room are the dim bedside lamp and the orange glow of Lovett’s phone on night shift. 

“Hey,” Lovett says softly. He squeezes Tommy around the shoulders, which makes Tommy’s hips jerk against Lovett’s thigh. 

“Is it time?” Lovett asks. “I could feel you heating up, but I thought I’d let you sleep as long as you could.” 

“Thank you,” Tommy croaks. His mouth and throat are dry as a bone, even as there’s wet all over his thighs. The toy must have slipped out of him as he slept. “How long was I out?” 

“A few hours,” Lovett replies. “Jon and Emily stayed with you for about two, and I’ve been here for another one or two.” 

“Are they okay?” Tommy asks. 

“Of course,” Lovett murmurs. “They got really hungry. They’re in the kitchen, I think. We ordered a bunch of food earlier, and Jon ordered even more. If you’re up for it, I’ll get you through this round, and then we’ll try to get a meal in you.” 

“Hmmm,” Tommy says. He’s following, but his head is feeling fuzzier by the minute. Nothing seems as important as the ache in his cunt, and the long hot line of Lovett’s thigh against his cock. 

“Could you eat, do you think? Do you have an appetite?” Lovett asks. He’s completely hard in his sweatpants, but his voice is calm as he lets Tommy grind on his leg. 

“No appetite at all,” Tommy says. “But I could try to eat anyway. And I’m thirsty.” 

“_Yeah_ you are,” Lovett says automatically, and they both snort. “Had to. Low-hanging fruit,” he adds, grinning. 

“You can’t help who you are,” Tommy replies, halfway between snotty and affectionate. Lovett snorts again and shoves him playfully. Then he grabs a Gatorade off the nightstand. There are several more waiting, Tommy notices. 

“Give it a try,” Lovett says. “I don’t need you passing out from dehydration in the middle of this.” 

“Got big plans?” Tommy asks, before gulping half the bottle. 

Lovett laughs. “No,” he replies, “but I can come up with some, if you want.” 

Tommy finishes the bottle off, caps it, and tosses it aside in his rush to shove himself back against Lovett. 

“Hmmm,” he says, tucking his face back into Lovett’s throat. 

Lovett laughs again. He scratches gently over Tommy’s arm and shoulder. “You’re like—high.” 

Tommy hums again. He nuzzles even closer and, deciding it’s not worth the fight to avoid, licks at Lovett’s throat, where his scent is strong. God, it’s so fucking good, he wants to fucking bury himself in it. Lovett’s scent deepens. And—is that Ronan’s scent, on him? 

“Wait, is Ronan here?” Tommy asks muzzily.

“Yeah,” Lovett says. His scent deepens again, overwhelming. “Or, well, yes, he’s in LA. I think he’s in the backyard right now, but he might’ve gone home.” 

Tommy licks at Lovett’s throat again, and down over his collarbone for good measure. He’s noticed before that Lovett and Ronan smell really good together, but he doesn’t usually _think_ about it. Now he’s swiping his tongue over Lovett’s jaw and ear and his Adam’s apple, wanting it all over him. 

“Something you’re after?” Lovett asks. His tone is joking, but the press of his hand on the back of Tommy’s neck has promise. 

Tommy leans over and rubs his throat and jaw against Lovett’s, mixing their scents together. Lovett mostly swallows a groan, but Tommy’s close enough to hear it.

“Definitely _some_thing you’re after, doing that,” Lovett murmurs. Tommy feels the barest hint of Lovett’s nails on his back. It makes Tommy’s cunt pulse hard around nothing. 

He knocks their jaws together again, on the other side this time, feeling luxurious and held inside Lovett’s attention. 

“Possessive?” is Lovett’s new guess. 

“Hmmmm” is all Tommy manages at first. 

What if he just buried his face in the bed and put his ass in the air, right now? Would Lovett take care of the rest? He feels dizzy at the thought. 

Then Lovett’s actual question filters back through his brain. Trying to clear his head, Tommy pops up onto his elbows, where the scent is less intense. “No,” he says. “I just—your scent is, uh—and you have very complementary scents. You and Ronan.” 

Lovett smiles what Tommy thinks of as his Ronan smile. “I know,” Lovett says. “You’ve never noticed that?” 

Tommy knows they’re in the middle of a conversation, but he _needs_— 

He puts himself right back where he was before, with his whole face in Lovett’s throat and his legs tight around Lovett’s warm thigh. 

He’s getting Lovett’s sweatpants wet and can’t quite bring himself to care. Lovett knew what he was getting into when he came back in here, surely.

“I guess I noticed a little,” Tommy eventually says. 

“It’s pretty obvious,” Lovett replies, sounding smug. 

Tommy wants to make fun of him, but he’s really sweating now and rapidly losing the ability to think. “_Smug_,” he says pointedly, and Lovett laughs. 

“I’m _very_ smug,” he says, even more smugly than before. 

Tommy laughs, low in his throat. 

For once, despite the urgent ache in his cunt, he doesn’t feel anxious. 

He’s even kind of enjoying the anticipation. He doesn’t have to rush. Lovett’s right here. 

He likes the way it feels to rub his lips against Lovett’s throat. He likes how it feels to squeeze his legs around Lovett’s strong thigh and _grind_. 

“Do you promise you’ll stay with me? The whole heat?” he asks, even though it’s a non sequitur, even though he already knows. He thinks maybe he needs to hear it. 

“Yes,” Lovett says. Then he tilts Tommy’s chin up, firmly, until Tommy looks him in the eye. “Yes,” he repeats. 

“Then will you—?” he starts. 

Despite the past—what is it now, twelve hours?—it’s uncomfortable to finish the sentence while looking Lovett in the eye. He wants to say it, though, without shame. Lovett deserves that. 

“Lo’, will you fuck me?” he says.

“Of course,” Lovett says. 

He’s _very _smug. 

His thumb on Tommy’s cheek is so gentle. 

Tommy can’t help but lean into the caress, and then lean in a little more, enough to brush their lips together. 

“Lovett?” he says against Lovett’s lips. He feels like he’s buzzing. His ears are ringing.

“Come here,” Lovett murmurs, all sweetness, and guides Tommy’s mouth back to his with a light touch under his chin. They kiss until Tommy’s breathing goes heavy and he can’t help but rock into Lovett’s thigh some more. Lovett bites Tommy’s bottom lip—careful, but hard enough to make Tommy moan. 

“God, you’re so good,” he says, right to Tommy’s blushing face.

Christ. Tommy hides his burning cheeks against Lovett’s throat, gulping in his scent, feeling glutted on it. Lovett pets his back and lets him. 

“Do you want to go ahead and get off like that first, or do you want something inside?” Lovett asks conversationally. 

“_Fuck_ me,” Tommy says immediately. He’s throbbing. He’s been grinding on Lovett so long that the entire thigh of his sweatpants are wet. It’s objectively disgusting, but subjectively it makes Tommy squirm—he _really_ likes that he’s getting his scent all over Lovett. 

“See, the other times you’ve said that, I went ahead and used a toy, but in this c—”

Tommy nudges the sweatpants down just enough to wrap one hand around the base of Lovett’s hard cock. 

“Yeah, I figured,” Lovett replies, sounding a little winded. He runs his palm down Tommy’s spine, but keeps going this time—feeling along Tommy’s sensitive crack and past his asshole, tucking two fingers right up against his wet entrance. 

Tommy arches back hard, trying to get Lovett’s fingers inside. 

“How do you want to—?” Lovett starts, but Tommy is already moving.

He’s been wanting and wanting this, and he finally just _does_ it—he puts his ass up and nuzzles his hot cheek deeper into the sheets. 

Surely Lovett will get the idea.

“That’s quite a picture,” Lovett says softly. He sits up behind Tommy.

Tommy feels his hands on his upper back, his stomach, and then his ass, pulling him apart a little. They both groan. 

“God. Can I eat you out?” Lovett says. He nips Tommy’s ass, and then one of his thighs. Tommy whimpers. “Yeah, I’m just—I’ve gotta eat you out a little. Give me a shout if it’s too much.” 

Tommy _loves_ the proprietary way Lovett’s holding his ass open. He has half a second to be strangely grateful—to have half a thought about vulnerability, and safety, and trusting somebody for over a decade—and then Lovett’s licking into his cunt and he’s not thinking anything at all. 

Lovett lifts his head after just a few seconds. “Oh my god,” he says. “Uh. Jon came inside you?” 

“Uh _huh_,” Tommy gasps. He arches his back harder, and Lovett’s fingertips dig into his ass, and it feels like the two of them are opening him up together, working in tandem to get Lovett deeper. 

“Fuck,” Lovett says. He licks into him one more time, and presses a sticky kiss to Tommy’s thigh. He bites Tommy’s thigh, too, which makes Tommy’s cunt twitch. “The taste of the two of you together. It’s—” 

Lovett doesn’t say what it is. He runs his fingers over Tommy’s entrance, and listens when Tommy moans, wanting them inside. 

“Yeah?” Lovett murmurs.

Lovett is, improbably, still in his wrecked sweatpants. He kneels up and pulls Tommy’s hips into the cradle of his own, his hard cock resting along Tommy’s crack, so close to where Tommy fucking needs it. 

Tommy doesn’t have to say a goddamn thing. He rubs back against Lovett’s cock, and whines, and feels weirdly satisfied by how he’s getting a whole new section of Lovett’s sweatpants soaking wet. 

“Yeah, you want that, huh,” Lovett says. 

Tommy can hear the smile in Lovett’s voice. He’s smiling too, he realizes. 

God, this feels good. It feels so good to just _want_ him. 

“You _love_ this,” Lovett says. He’s teasing, but there’s a note of wonder in his voice. 

“Mmmmhm,” Tommy hums, and then he reaches one hand back and pulls his ass and thigh a little more open. 

Lovett makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut, and then the heat of him disappears for a second as he rips his remaining clothing off. 

“Okay okay okay,” Lovett is saying, “okay, enough,” and he slides the head of his cock against Tommy’s entrance. Tommy can’t fucking breathe. “You’re sure?” Lovett says. 

“You said—” Tommy says, with great difficulty, “I wouldn’t—have to beg.” 

“That’s right,” Lovett replies. 

He slides in, big and good and easy as anything, and doesn’t stop until his hipbones are digging into Tommy’s ass. 

“Yeah?” Lovett checks, breathless. 

Tommy, gasping, stretches back further and grips Lovett’s thigh hard, just under his ass, pulling him in. 

“Okay, don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” Lovett laughs. He grabs a pillow, and pushes Tommy down until he’s laying flat with the pillow under his hips. Tommy settles in, his arms stretched above his head. “Let me know if you don’t like this,” Lovett says. “I think you’ll like it.” 

He sets one hand on Tommy’s ass, opening him up, and the other on the small of Tommy’s back, holding him down. 

He grinds in deep, and deeper still, until Tommy’s hitching his hips helplessly and maybe crying a little into the sheets. 

“I know,” Lovett says softly. Then he pushes Tommy down hard and draws back and gives him a real thrust. 

Tommy sobs. 

“Hey. Good sound?” Lovett pants. He’s so deep. Tommy feels—he feels— 

Tommy sobs again, shoves his face into the sheets, and nods. 

“Yeah, you love this,” Lovett murmurs. “It’s okay, Tommy. You can cry for me.” 

Lovett holds him down and fucks him until Tommy’s sobs peter out, until he’s just panting and shivering and trying to lock Lovett inside. 

“How do you want to do this?” Lovett asks. He’s gratifyingly winded. “I know you told Hanna that—but—we don’t have to—”

“_Please_,” Tommy breathes. 

“Okay,” Lovett says. “Okay.” He grinds in deep, and leans down and kisses the back of Tommy’s neck, which makes Tommy shiver hard and try to lock down around him again. He’s _so_ close.

“Fuck,” Lovett huffs. “You’re really—squeezing.” 

Tommy tries to lock him again_—fuck_, the stretch of Lovett’s knot expanding is—

“Tommy—” Lovett says, urgent, and then there’s a hot rush as Lovett comes in him. 

Tommy whines and puts his face down and gives into it, locking Lovett inside hard and following him over the edge. 

When he comes back to himself a bit later, his legs are still twitching. Lovett is heavy on Tommy’s back, licking assertively all over Tommy’s neck and shoulders. His knot is warm and pleasantly huge inside. Tommy arches a little to feel the stretch, and Lovett audibly chokes. 

“Back with me?” Lovett says, when he can breathe again. 

“Mmhmm,” Tommy replies. 

“How’re you doing?” Lovett says. “You’ve got me locked in good, but I can give you a little space if you—” 

Tommy makes a protesting noise in the back of his throat. 

“No? You want me right here?” Lovett teases. He licks at Tommy’s neck again. 

Tommy hums happily, and clenches down hard, rocking his hips so Lovett’s knot pulls at his entrance. God, he _does_ have Lovett locked in good, he thinks, a little delirious. He’s not going _anywhere_. Tommy gets to have his knot for as long as he wants it. 

“_Shit_,” Lovett gasps. “God, Tommy.” 

Tommy keeps rocking his hips, grinding his sensitive cock into the pillow too. He hasn’t quite come down from last time—and maybe—maybe he—god, he’s so full, and the stretch is _so_ good—

“You wanna come again?” Lovett manages, sounding choked. 

Tommy moans and nods, grinding back in little circles, getting Lovett’s knot right where he wants it over and over. 

“Yeah, you do,” Lovett pants. He grips Tommy hard but doesn’t move, just lets Tommy use his cock. He licks Tommy’s neck and spine, and nips the round muscle of his shoulder. 

Tommy shivers, and feels himself lose control of his body as he clenches down hard and comes again, moaning unsteadily. 

“There you go,” Lovett murmurs in his ear. “There you go, Tommy. Take what you need.” 

“_Fuck_,” Tommy moans, still spasming. “Oh my god.” 

“You okay?” Lovett says. He finds one of Tommy’s hands and holds it. 

“Yeah—it keeps—” Tommy gasps as another aftershock hits him. He’s shaking. “Fuck—!” 

“You’re okay,” Lovett says, squeezing Tommy’s hand. He’s still a little winded. “It’s okay. Let your body take what it needs.” 

What feels like minutes but must be seconds later, Tommy’s shaking turns to shivering, which becomes intermittent, and finally stops. 

“Holy shit,” Tommy rasps, when he makes it a full thirty seconds.

Lovett chuckles in his ear, warm and present, all along his back, and stretched wide inside him. Just the sound makes Tommy’s thighs twitch.

“What did you _do_ to me?” Tommy laughs. 

“I, uh, I gave you that _good Alpha dick_—” Lovett starts, using what Tommy knows is his _bro voice_. 

“Shut the _fuck up_,” Tommy says, cracking up, and manages to elbow him. Lovett starts laughing too. 

When they get through the hysterical giggling, Lovett says, “I mean, obviously I was joking, but that’s pretty much what happened.”

“Lovett,” Tommy says. “Not to insult your dick, but I think the, you know, deep trust and ten years of friendship have something to do with it.” 

“Hmm?” Lovett replies, dodging, but Tommy can tell he’s pleased. 

Tommy grabs a pillow for his head and squirms a little, getting comfortable. Lovett’s knot in him feels good, but not in an urgent way anymore. 

Lovett hums again, sounding content. He kisses the back of Tommy’s neck, and Tommy lets out a long sigh. He’s asleep not long after. 

* * * 

Tommy wakes up feeling cranky, already scrunching his nose. “Mmm?”

“Sorry,” comes Lovett’s voice. Tommy realizes that his cock has just slipped out of Tommy. Tommy’s cunt and ass and inner thighs are—very messy. Wow. The sheets are _doomed_. The mattress is probably also doomed. 

Oh well.

“‘S okay,” Tommy mumbles. He turns in Lovett’s arms and nuzzles into his throat. Having Lovett holding him down had been great, but—Tommy thinks sleepily—he likes to be right here, with his nose in Lovett’s throat, where it’s safe and dark and full of their scents. 

As he relaxes back toward sleep, he opens his mouth wide against Lovett’s throat, sets his teeth against Lovett’s skin. And—freezes. 

Lovett is frozen too. 

Oh god. Tommy should really—he really—

Lovett breathes. “_Tommy_,” he says quietly, on an exhale. 

Tommy pulls back just enough to close his mouth without biting, and pushes his face into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut, as though he could hide from this conversation. 

“Hey,” Lovett whispers. “Hey, no. It’s all right. It’s okay, sweetheart.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy croaks, his face hot with shame. 

“Apology rejected,” Lovett says. “Categorically rejected.” He squeezes Tommy around the shoulders. “Biting: love it. Bite resulting in a heat bond: not even off the table! Heat bond: very much on the table,” he continues. “Listen, I told you, I’m here for the duration, okay? I just think we should talk about it, when you’re a little more clear-headed.” 

“You’re right,” Tommy manages. 

“Well, you know I love hearing that,” Lovett says, lightly, moving them to more familiar waters. 

“I—” Tommy starts, and immediately stops.

Lovett squeezes him some more. “What is it?” 

“Hrrmmmm,” Tommy hedges, trying to play it off. 

“You don’t have to be nervous talking to me about this stuff, you know,” Lovett murmurs, and it’s so similar to what Jon told him earlier that Tommy wonders if they’ve talked, somehow, in the meantime, in between all the sex. “You’ve been one of my best friends for basically my entire adult life. There is very little I wouldn’t do for you.” 

Tommy experiences an unholy combination of butterfly-stomach and rollercoaster-stomach, and knows he’s going to say it. 

He comes up on his elbows so they can look at one another. 

“Hey,” he says. “I love you.” 

Lovett smiles so all his eye crinkles show. “I love you too, Tommy Vietor.” 

“I love you, like, I don’t know if I would have even made it through today without you,” Tommy says. “The list of Alphas I even actually trust is—vanishingly short.” Lovett strokes Tommy’s cheek, slow. “It’s like four people,” Tommy says. “It’s Hanna and you and Emily and Ronan. And I mean, sure, Obama is a distant fifth place.” He swallows. “That’s it.” 

Lovett squirms a little, but doesn’t run off or change the subject. Finally, he relaxes, and returns to stroking Tommy's cheek. “Well. Thank you,” he says. He seems to be gathering steam. “You—and I mean this sincerely—you have been so courageous today. You’re such a smart person, you’re so competent, you’re so hardworking, so prepared. And you couldn’t outsmart this. You couldn’t prepare. So you just braved your way straight through. Seeing you be vulnerable like this is—I mean, I know it was scary for you at first, but it’s amazing to witness. It’s an honor that you’re trusting us like this.” 

Tommy is crying. “Lovett, what the fuck,” he says thickly. “I’m already dehydrated.” 

Lovett, who is tearing up too, starts laughing. He sits them both up and hands Tommy another Gatorade. “Drink that. Then we’re going to see if your legs can hold you. There’s food waiting.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note: I'm posting _two_ chapters today, chapter 9 and chapter 10!** They go together. I'm posting _zero_ new chapters next weekend!
> 
> This fic has no major archive warnings, and there are no content warnings for this chapter.

Tommy’s legs do hold him. He even develops an appetite for food once he’s upright. He uses the restroom and wipes himself down with a hot washcloth. He’s not nearly clean enough for polite company, but it’s good enough for now: they all know what he smells like. Gingerly, he pulls on Jon’s softest, loosest pair of sweatpants, which were waiting for him on the bathroom counter. He doesn’t bother with the equally soft, loose t-shirt. He’s relatively confident that he has some time before the next wave of heat, but he still feels feverish. 

When he emerges, Lovett is waiting for him. He has half-heartedly pulled on a clean pair of TommyJohns and a zip-up hoodie. 

“Is that a Kerry 2004 sweatshirt?” Tommy asks. He tugs one of the strings, and realizes halfway through that he’s flirting. 

Well, actually, he and Lovett always flirt, so that’s not unusual. But it’s not usually—they’re not usually also fucking. And they haven’t usually just talked about loving one another

...Hm.

He tugs the string again. Lovett grins.

“Selection was limited,” Lovett replies. He takes Tommy’s hand. “It’s gonna take like ten washes to get my scent back out of this, so I couldn’t borrow any of Jon’s favorites. Anyway, let’s go, I can hear your stomach from here.” 

After basically the entire day in Jon and Emily’s guest bedroom, it feels surreal just to step into the hallway. It seems like it shouldn’t be dark out, which it very much is. Tommy hears a car going down the street, and a siren a couple blocks over. 

As soon as he opens the puppy gate, all three dogs come running to check on him, which is gratifying and, in Tommy’s hormonal state, might make him sniffle a little, though that couldn’t be proven in a court of law. Lucca jumps at him until he squats down and gives her a full minute of proper ear scratches. He even lets her get a couple face licks in. She’s such a good girl. 

“For real, though,” Lovett says. He’s cradling Pundit like a baby, her little chin resting on his shoulder. “Your cycle is ridiculous. You need to eat, like, _now_.”

They find Jon and Emily on the couch, sleepily presiding over at least fifteen takeout containers spread out on the low coffee table. 

“Holy fuck, you guys,” Tommy laughs. 

“It’s been a strenuous ten hours,” Emily deadpans. 

“No shit,” Tommy agrees, still grinning. 

“Tell me what you have a taste for,” Jon says. “We have...every single food. And I’m very skilled at warming things up.” 

“He doesn’t burn takeout even a little. Usually,” Emily adds, grinning when Jon rolls his eyes. 

Tommy dutifully picks out barbecue chicken wings, and naan, and half a turkey burger.

“That’s a good start,” Lovett says. 

“Can I have peanut butter too?” Tommy says, half-joking. 

“Absolutely,” Jon says, and fetches a whole jar from the pantry, and a spoon.

Jon takes Tommy’s chosen takeout to the kitchen, and Lovett directs Tommy onto the couch next to Emily. 

“You have to let us be a little overbearing,” Lovett says, apologetic. He sits down on Tommy’s other side. “I mean, actually you don’t have to, at all, but let us anyway.” 

“Please,” Emily says. 

“By our count, you’ve come eight times today—” Lovett starts. 

Tommy makes a sound. That sound might be a squeak. 

“—so, like. Your body has been through a lot. Our caretaking instinct levels can be best described as _yikes_,” Lovett continues. 

“He’s been texting me how badly he wants to feed you for four hours,” Emily says. 

“Yeah, and you’ve been talking about giving him a massage for five,” Lovett replies. He reaches over and pokes her in the arm. 

“The second best part of marathon sex is marathon pampering!” Emily insists, poking Lovett back. 

“Co-signed!” Jon calls over the hum of the microwave. 

“Tommy,” Emily says, passionately. “If I thought I could give you a massage without kickstarting your cycle, you would have cucumbers on your eyes _right fucking now_.” 

“Thanks, Em,” Tommy laughs.

“Okay, food,” Jon butts back in, juggling three hot plates, a dish towel, and a small plastic bottle. “And, if you want, ibuprofen.” 

“Or Vicodin, honestly, if you give me a few minutes to find the nearest dealer,” Lovett adds. He waves his phone pointedly.

Tommy swallows his fourth peanut butter spoon, and pauses with the turkey burger in hand. “I’m feeling...pretty good, actually,” he says, and stuffs most of the burger into his mouth. 

When he emerges from the burger, Jon and Lovett and Emily are all fixated on him with the same deeply satisfied facial expression.

“Uh?” he says. 

Emily rips off a bit of warm naan and hands it to him. 

“Guys?” he says, nibbling. 

“Shhh,” Lovett says. “Eat. Chew. ” 

“I don’t know if my tolerance for you being overbearing is going to extend to you literally becoming my great aunt Melinda,” Tommy protests, but he takes the next bit of naan that Emily gives him anyway. 

“It’s so interesting that that’s a family association for you,” Lovett ponders. He’s stroking Tommy’s shoulder without seeming to think about it. “This is _such_ a cycle thing for me.” 

“Mmm?” Tommy asks, intrigued, from within a pile of chicken wings. 

“Taking care of somebody who’s in heat or rut, and getting, like, _really_ into it. It’s a thing.” 

Tommy is slightly alarmed by this revelation, but everybody’s scents are nice and even. He glances at everybody’s pants for good measure. Nobody’s visibly hard or wet. 

“Not like _that_,” Lovett laughs. “It’s more like—it is unbelievably satisfying to think, like, oh, we bred you and bathed you and bred you some more and then you took a nap and now we’re feeding you.” 

“Keep talking about breeding him and it’s gonna turn back into _that_ pretty fast,” Emily mutters. 

“Well, I was glad there was an iota of wholesomeness somewhere in this process, but now—” Tommy says. 

“_And_ you feel so good you don’t even want ibuprofen,” Jon cuts him off, single-handedly dragging them back out of the gutter. He’s seated cross-legged on the ground, on the other side of the coffee table. “That is like...the dream. I give us an A+, as a team. A+ to us. Four-point-oh.” 

He and Lovett high-five over the coffee table. 

“Jon and I always need so many painkillers,” Emily sighs. 

Lovett shoots her a horrified look, but Jon quickly explains, “Between the two of us, there are zero people responsible enough to remember to hydrate.” 

“Rut dehydration hangover _every time_,” Emily moans, and Lovett laughs. 

“You just gotta pre-set it,” Lovett says. “You gotta be your own advance team. Jon, you’re such a big nester. Can’t you just—you know—like, build an easily accessible tower of Gatorade cases in the bedroom? Et cetera?” 

Jon clears his throat. “Sure, I can, but that doesn’t help when Emily fucks me over the dining table for two hours and then on the floor next to the table for two hours after that.” 

“Oh my _god_, Emily.” Lovett turns back to her, scandalized. “You can’t just fuck him for four hours without hydrating!” 

She cracks up, and then everybody else is laughing too. 

“What are they teaching the youths these days?!” Lovett adds, making it a bit. 

“What, like you and Ronan are so careful?” she teases, reaching behind Tommy to prod Lovett’s shoulder. “_You_ didn’t fix your car ignition for four months and _he_ doesn’t have a sleep schedule to speak of. You’re not gonna convince me that your ruts are any less chaotic than mine.” 

“They are _way_ less chaotic than yours,” Lovett declares. 

“Hmm_mm_.” 

Jon has one of the best skeptical _hmmm_s in the business, Tommy thinks admiringly, while systematically destroying the last remaining chicken wing.

“First of all, we are bicoastal, so we have to _schedule_,” Lovett starts. 

Lovett has stopped stroking Tommy’s back, presumably so he can gesture with more limbs at once, but he’s also shifted so that one of his knees is in Tommy’s lap. Tommy leans against him, feeling a bit like a big dog who’s quietly but insistently requesting pets. 

“—oh, cry me a river, like we don’t all have to schedule our cycle leave—” Emily interjects.

“—_and second of all_,” Lovett continues over her, fully ranting, “two Alphas! You can’t just have _chaos ruts_ with _two Alphas_! You have to _plan_! You have to take_ turns_!” 

“Wait, you take turns?” Jon says. He notices that Tommy is out of chicken wings, and nudges some chocolate-covered strawberries toward him. 

Tommy, who feels that chocolate-covered strawberries are wildly indulgent for a time like this, digs in anyway under Jon’s watchful eye.

“Of course we take turns!” Lovett continues, still in his ranting voice. 

“I’ve never really thought through the logistics of this before,” Emily says thoughtfully. 

“So you—don’t rut at the same time?” Jon asks. “That’s, like, double the cycle leave, though...?” 

The second part of the question—_and Ronan, god love him, is a manic workaholic who can barely be convinced to take his vacation time—_doesn’t need to be said.

“Sometimes we go at the same time, sometimes we don’t,” Lovett says. “I mean, obviously we go at the same time when we can. We have other shit to do, so we try to avoid doubling the leave.” 

“Wait, then what is ‘taking turns’ about?” Emily asks. 

“Taking turns on who is being _responsible_ and making sure we _hydrate, Emily_, versus who is just going completely f—” Lovett blushes “—hm, didn’t think this through. Going, uh, bananas. You know what I mean. Rutting.” 

Tommy, biting into a strawberry, blushes quietly, imagining it.

“I have no _idea_ what you mean, tell me more,” Emily says, clearly just to needle Lovett. 

He reaches over Tommy and pokes her leg in rebuke, like they’re little kids. She laughs.

“Honestly, sounds challenging,” Jon concludes. “God, I love being a Beta.” 

“I love that you’re a Beta,” Emily says. They high-five over the table.

“I’ve never had to think through the logistics before,” Tommy says, feeling much more ready to contribute to human conversation now that he’s eaten the equivalent of two meals in quick succession. “I mean, clearly. If I had any idea what the fuck I was doing, I wouldn’t have gone to work on the day my heat started.” 

“Yeah, that’s a no-no,” Emily says. She hands Tommy the peanut butter and spoon again. “But it’s all right. Everybody goes through a period of trial and error.”

Tommy squints at her. “Is that real, or are you being nice?” 

“It is very real,” Lovett says. “Most people go through it earlier in life, so it just sort of melts into the general incompetence of youth. You know, new hire can’t use the fax machine, doesn’t know how the paper filing system works, comes in to work at 9 a.m. on the dot directly after fucking someone through a rut, thinking it’ll be fine.” 

“You _didn’t_,” Emily says, shocked. 

“I one hundred percent did,” Lovett replies. “After all the years of people chewing me out for being late, I thought I needed to be punctual at the law firm at _all_ _costs_. Completely misprioritized.”

They just stare at him, horrified.

“It was terrible,” he concludes. “My boss took one whiff and sent me straight home. Let’s never talk about it again. He and I sure didn’t.” 

Emily winces, sympathetic. “One time Hanna and I didn’t realize our ruts had synced up and basically had to quarantine ourselves away from each other in a one-bedroom apartment,” she confesses.

“_What_?!” Jon and Tommy say, in unison. 

“In retrospect, I think that our ability to collaborate and figure out what we needed to do on the fly, and then talk through the awkwardness afterwards? That might have been what catapulted us from friendship into best-friends-forever-ship,” Emily muses. 

“You have _never_ talked about this!” Jon says. 

“Well, this is before either of us were dating either of you,” Emily says. “Obviously.” 

“Yeah, I think I would remember that,” Tommy says, and then blushes deeply. 

“_Me too_,” Jon says, which makes Tommy feel better immediately. Jon laughs. “Jesus. I hope your rut partners were cool.” 

“That’s what I’m saying!” Emily insists. “Like, Hanna stuffed towels under the bedroom door, I played loud music, et cetera, but we still had to find two people who were cool with everybody else’s scents being all over the apartment!” 

“Yikes,” Jon says, still chuckling. “Yeah, that’s so stressful, I would hate that.” 

“You—?” Tommy starts, and stops, trying to put his thoughts in order. “That’s a thing? A problem? Aren’t we basically doing that right now?” 

“No?” Emily replies. “You’re the only one in heat.” 

“But—all the different scents?” Tommy says. 

“Hmmmm,” Lovett says, conspicuously muffled, leaning on his elbow via resting his mouth on his palm. 

Jon shrugs. “Honestly, I just figured—it might not even get to that point, and if it gets to that point, it’s really not going to be an issue with us.” 

“Same,” Lovett says. 

Tommy looks between them. There’s clearly something they aren’t saying. 

“The only risk factor was me, since I _technically_ didn’t know your scent until you got here,” Emily jumps in. “But I was pretty damn sure anyway, so it wasn’t much of a risk.” 

“I’m really not following,” Tommy says. 

“I think we were...all pretty sure we were compatible, in this way, in the first place,” Lovett explains delicately. “I mean, we’ve been making sisterwives jokes for like a decade. It’s not like we hadn’t noticed there was something there. And then, once Jon and I actually had your scent?” He looks over at Jon.

“No doubt at that point,” Jon agrees. His eyes are so dark and intent, watching Lovett. 

Tommy is quiet, trying to absorb this information. 

Lovett and Emily clearly notice his unease and immediately offer him food—they don’t seem to be able to help themselves. They each look a little wounded when he waves them off.

“I had never thought about this before,” Tommy says finally. 

“I mean, yeah,” Jon says. “You said before, you didn’t do heats, and it was never much of a thing between you and Hanna. So, no reason to think about it. Makes sense.” 

“Right. But—_you_ were all thinking about it,” Tommy says. 

“Yeah, but, that’s just—” Lovett’s mouth twists. Tommy can tell he’s uncomfortable. 

“We weren’t making a plan, or discussing it,” Emily explains. “We were just—noticing. Keeping track of who’s compatible and who’s not. Most people do.” 

“Most A’s and O’s keep track,” Lovett elaborates. “I think most Betas don’t.” 

“Some Betas do!” Jon corrects him. 

“Right,” Lovett agrees. “Most Betas don’t, but some Betas do, like Jon. Most Omegas do, but some Omegas don’t—like you, Tommy.” 

Tommy tries to keep a brave, straight face about all this for about two seconds, but then he decides that that’s silly when multiple people who love him are right here. He hides his face between Lovett’s shoulder and the couch instead. It strains his neck a little, but it feels safer. 

“...Uh, how’re you doing there, buddy?” Lovett says. 

“I don’t know anything about anything,” Tommy informs the couch cushion. 

“Well that’s definitely not true,” Jon says. His voice is so warm. “I’m going to tell the Worldos you said that, and they’ll set you straight.” 

Tommy snorts with laughter despite himself. 

Emily rests a hand lightly on his back. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you are,” she says. 

Tommy reaches back and pulls her arm around so she’s hugging him. Now he and Lovett and Emily are basically all one pile. 

“Thanks,” he tells the couch. He sits them all back up again before he can get too into being crushed between them. 

Jon opens his mouth, probably to tell Tommy something very sweet that Tommy will cry over because he has no goddamn self-control right now. But Jon’s phone buzzes on the table, interrupting the moment. He takes a look at the screen and silences it. 

“It’s Tanya again,” he explains. “Just some texts. It’s all right; I already talked to her. I warned her we might be incommunicado for the rest of this.” 

“I have every confidence in our employees,” Lovett agrees. He’s snuggled sideways into the back of the couch now, eyes half-closed. He’s petting Tommy’s hair, which makes Tommy’s spine feel all tingly and liquid and warm, but nothing too crazy. It’s not urgent. “They are very smart, that’s why we hired them,” Lovett continues. 

“What did she say when you talked to her before?” Tommy asks. 

“Uh,” Jon says, glancing at Lovett. 

“Oh no,” Tommy groans, considering hiding in the couch again. 

“No no no, she didn’t ask anything bad,” Jon says. “There were a lot of logistical questions about pod schedules, et cetera, but mostly she wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“And you…told her I was in the next room over getting fucked by your wife?” Tommy says, with creeping dread. 

“Of course not!’ Jon says. “Come on. No. I told her you were on cycle leave, but otherwise good.” 

Tommy would prefer that none of his coworkers know even that much, but then again, it’s nothing unusual. People take short cycle leaves all the time, sometimes for their own heat or rut, sometimes for their partner’s, and sometimes (if they really have their shit together) for both at once. 

“Okay…?” he says, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“So then she asked me if I could come back to the office, as long as you were okay, because there was a lot to go over.” 

“Oh no.” Tommy can see where this is going. 

“So then I told her I was _also_ on cycle leave,” Jon says, with a wince. 

“And she said you were a Beta, and you told her that was discrimination, and she told you to hire an HR person already, then,” Emily interjects, indignant. 

“Oh no,” Lovett groans. “Jon, you didn’t tell me that before.”

“It’s fine—I mean, it’s Tanya; she just misspoke. It’s not like she meant anything by it,” Jon replies. “I’m used to it.” 

“You shouldn’t have to be _used to it_,” Lovett says. “I’ll talk to her.” 

“And we’ll hire an HR person already,” Jon sighs. “I mean, she has a point.” 

“So Tanya thinks, what? That you’re heat-partnering me?” Tommy says. Lovett hands him a baby carrot and nudges the hummus closer. 

“Not exactly,” Jon hedges. 

“_Jon_,” Tommy demands. 

“So, after I told her I was on cycle leave too, she said she hadn’t been able to get a hold of Lovett either, so could I get him to be available asap, since neither of us would be,” Jon explains. 

“Oh _no_.” 

“Right, so then I said _Lovett_ was on cycle leave as well,” Jon says, already making a face. 

“Honestly, you should have told her I had norovirus,” Lovett interrupts. “Or food poisoning, or—you know, bird flu, or whatever. I mean, who’s going to call us on that lie? We’re the bosses.” 

“I know,” Jon groans, scrubbing his face with one hand. “Ugh. I just didn’t think fast enough.” 

“I mean—there was, what, a thirty-second gap between you leaving me to take care of Tommy and you talking to Tanya?” Emily says.

“I talked to Dan first,” Jon says. “But basically yes. My brain was not running at full speed. I was...mostly thinking about you fucking Tommy and how much I wanted to get back to that. So. Not my best-ever comms strategy.” 

“Ooooh, wait, what did Dan say?” Lovett perks up. He hands Tommy another carrot. 

“Dan thought the entire thing was hilarious,” Jon chuckles. “I mean, I didn’t go into your history, Tommy, I just told him that the three of us are down for the count, for the duration.” 

Tommy cracks a grin despite himself. “God damn it,” he says. “He’s been telling us we’re codependent since literally 2007.” 

“Hey,” Lovett protests halfheartedly. He hands Tommy another carrot.

“Dan’s been saying you and I are codependent since 2014 at the latest, Lovett, so don’t feel left out,” Jon adds. 

“_Hey_,” Emily fake-protests. 

“Babe, _our_ codependence is codified by law,” Jon laughs. “Anyway, Dan gonna say it to all of us, collectively, after this. Codependency for all.” 

“I think we’re a perfectly functional, healthy group, thank you,” Lovett says crisply. 

“We’re definitely doing our best,” Tommy reframes. 

Lovett looks him over, and kisses his cheek. “_Extremely_ functional,” he insists. “_Very _healthy. Eat your carrots.” 

Tommy laughs, and then jumps half out of his skin when the back door creaks open. 

“Hey, want me to run out and get—” Ronan says, and then freezes, still in the doorway, when he spots Tommy on the couch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in this chapter! Make my day. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note: I posted two chapters today. This is the second one! Please read chapter 9 before chapter 10! Thanks <3 **
> 
> This fic has no major archive warnings, and there are no content warnings for this chapter.

Pundit hops off an armchair and trots over to greet Ronan. 

“Um—hey,” Tommy says, and blushes all the way down his chest. He’s abruptly aware that he’s shirtless and holding several carrots. And smelling of heat. And leaning heavily against Ronan’s partner. 

He goes to sit up straight, but Lovett holds him tight. 

“You’re fine,” Lovett says, thumbing over Tommy’s bare arm. He’s looking at Ronan with a hint of his Ronan smile peeking out from one cheek, his scent swelling gently, earthy and deep. 

“You can touch him as much as he wants, I’m not possessive,” Ronan tells Tommy. He and Lovett exchange a warm look. Then he continues, to Tommy, “I’m sorry, I’ve been making calls out back and I didn’t realize you were up and about. Do you all need anything? I’ll get back out of your hair.” 

“But you just flew in, though?” Tommy asks, feeling out of sorts. 

“I mean, I got in about seven hours ago,” Ronan says. 

“Have you been in the backyard for seven hours?!” Tommy asks. 

“Sure,” Ronan says, with a calm air of forced normalcy. “I had work to do, and it’s nice out.” 

“That’s—but—” Tommy is baffled. “Come eat with us?” 

Now Ronan’s the one blushing. 

“Tommy, he’s been sequestered in the backyard because you’re in heat,” Lovett says plainly. “We’re not going to casually bring somebody else into the house _while you’re in heat_.”

“For the record, I wouldn’t jump straight to sequestered,” Ronan adds lightly. “I can always leave. I _will_ leave, if you want, Tommy.” 

“Stop trying to self-sacrifice,” Lovett objects. Then, to Tommy, “He’s in pre-rut and doesn’t want to leave. Hence, the yard.”

“I am annoyingly clingy during pre-rut,” Ronan admits, still fetchingly pink.

“Stop calling it ‘annoying,’” Lovett scoffs at him, affectionately. “It doesn’t annoy me at all and you know it.” 

Tommy, heart sinking, says, “Lovett, you know you can—you can go, if you need to go? Do you need to go?” 

“Oh my god! Not you too! How are you both like this? And how are _you_ getting from this conversation that_ I_ want to leave?” Lovett snips at him. 

Tommy bristles, and sits up, giving them a little space. “I’m just saying you _can_. I’m not going to keep you from taking care of your partner.” 

Lovett looks away, pressing his lips together. Tommy can feel how irritated he is flowing off him like it’s a physical sensation. 

“What,” he demands. “_What_, Lovett.” 

Jon and Emily exchange a big, married Look, which just makes Tommy more annoyed.

Lovett’s mouth twists, bitter. “You asked me to promise I would stay with you for your whole heat,” he says. “You _just _did. Like, what—an hour and a half ago.” 

Tommy’s heart sinks further. 

“You’ve asked me, multiple times—even when we were still in the _office_ today, Tommy—to not leave you. So, what are you saying?” 

“I’m _saying_, I know Ronan comes first,” Tommy says, trying to force calm into his voice. “And I’m saying—I get that. He’s your partner.” 

Lovett takes one big breath, and abruptly turns ninety degrees so he’s facing Tommy, crosslegged on the couch. “Hey. Do you understand that you’re important to me?” he asks, his voice carefully even. “Like, really. Not just words. Not just when it’s convenient. You’re really, really, really important to me.” 

Tommy, abruptly, feels tears prickling hot behind his eyes. “Yes,” he says. 

“Do you believe me when I tell you that I love you?” Lovett asks, without hesitation. 

“Yes,” Tommy croaks. 

“I wouldn’t leave you in the middle of something like this,” Lovett says. “I just wouldn’t. You’ve told me again and again that you need me here. You—almost heat-bonded me, Tommy. So, it bothers me that you think that I would leave you anyway, the minute you were inconvenient.” 

Tommy starts crying, which seems like about one hundred times too many for one day, thank you. “Hormones,” he chokes out miserably. 

“We know,” Jon murmurs. “It’s okay, Tom.” 

“Drink,” Emily says, and hands him an unscrewed Gatorade. She pets his back while he gets his breathing under control. 

Lovett takes his free hand. Tommy squeezes. 

“I do know that, Lo’,” Tommy finally says. “I know that.” 

He breathes a little more, and drinks some more Gatorade.

“I’m not used to any of you feeling—responsible for me,” he finally says. “Not like this. I’m grateful that you’re taking care of me. But it’s not something I would have expected from you, or even thought to ask for.” 

Emily taps the bottle he’s holding, and he drinks some more. 

“Well, we _do_ feel responsible for you. Currently.” Lovett squeezes his hand back. “And you _can_ ask for it. Anytime.”

Tommy sets down the Gatorade and, at a loss for words, kisses him. 

Lovett sighs into his mouth, releasing all the tension he’d been visibly holding in his shoulders and arms, and pets Tommy’s jaw until Tommy goes boneless against the back of the couch. Then he gentles the kiss, and releases him. 

“There you go,” Lovett murmurs. “Don’t ask me to leave you again.” 

Tommy can’t help but glance at Ronan. He’s still standing in the doorway, hip resting on the frame, with a demure smile escaping from one corner of his mouth. Pundit stretches against his leg, and Ronan picks her up. 

“Tommy, for the record,” Jon adds, ”Emily and I are...not totally confident that we can keep up with you on our own.” 

Tommy laughs, startled, and half-covers his face.

“I mean—by god, we would have tried,” Jon says, more lightly now, “but my ballot is cast for Lovett staying. This is a team sport.” 

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, blushing bright red. 

“Oh, do you need me around for logistical reasons, Jon?” Lovett asks Jon, rant energy roaring back to the fore. He twists back around so he can plant his feet on the ground and his elbows on his knees. “I’m the—the—relief pitcher? Thanks! I feel really valued!”

“Lovett, you know I love you,” Jon replies, guileless. 

Tommy uncovers his face and looks at Ronan again. His face is lit up, the coy smile slowly spreading. 

“There is no way you don’t know how much I love you,” Jon continues. “It’s so obvious to everyone that I get DMs about it on a daily basis.”

Lovett squirms. “Right. But I need to hear about it, in detail, directly from you. Please include footnotes.” 

“I’ll prepare a whitepaper for you,” Jon says, grinning. Then, impossibly, he scoots over between Lovett’s knees, and kneels up, and kisses him. 

Tommy, Emily, and Ronan all inhale sharply as one. Emily claps a hand over her mouth. 

“Shut! Up!” Lovett chastises them, half an inch from Jon’s lips. 

Jon, whose eyes are still closed, touches Lovett’s neck, and pulls him in for another kiss—firmer this time, and deeper. 

“My _god_,” Lovett says when Jon finally lets him go. 

“Been holding that in for a while, huh Jon?” Emily asks, sly and grinning. Her scent is suddenly present, like there’s static in the air.

“You know _exactly_ how long I’ve been holding that in, _Emily_,” Jon replies, still looking at Lovett. 

“_Do_ tell,” Ronan fishes. “Because—Jonathan too.”

Now both Jons are blushing. 

The five of them really are, collectively, an absolute mess, Tommy thinks. He just wishes Hanna were here to see it. To be part of it. 

“A while,” Jon is hedging. “Quite a while.”

Lovett kisses him again, sweet.

“Give me a ballpark,” Lovett murmurs, thumbing at Jon’s chin. 

Jon goes a dull pink. “Well—D.C.,” he says quietly.

Lovett’s eyebrows shoot up. “But…” he starts. He’s watching Jon, though, and doesn’t bother to finish the thought. Lovett knows Jon’s face as well as Tommy does—it’s obvious that Jon’s not lying. “Huh,” Lovett says, running his thumb over Jon’s lower lip this time. Tommy can just barely catch the edge of Jon’s subtle scent, underneath Emily’s.

Jon blushes deeper. “I’ll tell you all about it later, Lovett,” he says. “I promise.” 

“Hmmm,” Lovett replies—Tommy can’t tell if he’s really skeptical or if he’s pretending—but Jon makes a pleading face, and Lovett relents, giving Jon a little dimpled smile and touching his jaw gently. 

Lucca breaks the moment—she makes a play to dethrone Leo from his armchair of choice, and Jon hops up to break up the vigorous play-fight. Both dogs go in hard for face licks—Jon is their favorite target—and Pundit scampers out of Ronan’s arms to get in on the action.

Tommy’s heart melts—he doesn’t usually pay it much mind, but seeing Lucca adore Jon always makes him feel like this. Even when she’s _clearly_ doing it to spite Leo.

He giggles at how offended Leo looks, and then laughs some more when Emily and Lovett both try to hand him Gatorade at the same time. “Guys,” he says. “You’re a parody of yourselves.” 

Emily and Lovett both shake themselves out of the spectacle that is Jon covered in dogs and realize what they’re doing. 

“Same wavelength!” Emily cheers, and taps the Gatorades together like they’re toasting. 

“Emily is learning all about _basic hydration_,” Lovett teases. “Sound familiar?” he asks Ronan. 

“Very,” Ronan snorts. 

Lovett smiles his soft Ronan smile. 

“Ronan, really, will you come sit with us?” Tommy asks, feeling warm and lax now, snuggling back against Lovett. 

“Sure?” Ronan replies. “If you feel comfortable? I mean—it is heat.” 

“Ronan, you’re being—” Ronan is a literal prodigy; Tommy can’t just call him dumb. “—uh, silly,” Tommy settles on. Lovett snorts. “Yes, of course I want you here.”

“You’re on Tommy’s shortlist of trusted Alphas, baby,” Lovett reassures him. “Get in here.” 

Ronan grins, obviously pleased, and settles himself on the floor in front of Lovett, leaning against one of Lovett’s bare legs, his hand wrapped around Lovett’s ankle. 

This close, it’s easy to catch Ronan’s scent—green and bright, and more intense than usual—like walking through freshly cut grass in the rain, but turned up to eleven. That must be because he’s in pre-rut, Tommy thinks, inhaling more deeply. He nuzzles his cheek against Lovett’s shoulder. They really do smell wonderful together: deep and wet and living. 

Lovett already has one arm wrapped around Tommy. He rests the other hand in Ronan’s hair. 

Emily takes one look at this tableau and laughs: “Oh god. You’re going to go mad with power.” 

Lovett shrugs and nods with a sly smile, not contesting it. 

“_Very_ smug,” Tommy teases, nudging him. 

“Don’t worry,” Ronan grins. He rests his chin on Lovett’s leg, and looks up at him. “I’ll bring him to heel.” 

Lovett, still smiling, goes bright red. 

“Jesus,” Jon says, with feeling. He leans back against the couch so Emily can pet his hair too. She smiles at him, shifting so he can rest his cheek on her thigh. 

“How close to rut _are_ you, Ronan?” Emily asks. “Because....”

“Feeling turf-y?” Ronan asks, straightening up like he’s ready to hop back out the door, out of her territory, at a moment’s notice. 

Emily shakes her head. “No, actually, just—” she glances at Tommy.

“He’s not that close to rut,” Lovett says. He runs his fingers through Ronan’s hair until Ronan relaxes back against his leg, looking blissed out. Tommy feels a sympathetic warmth spill down his spine. “That wasn’t an Alpha power grab thing; he just likes to tease me.” 

“That’s true,” Ronan says, his eyes half-closed in pleasure. “Teasing is an essential component of the care and keeping of one Jonathan Lovett, as you all know.” 

Tommy feels like his chest has cracked wide open with affection for all of them. He could cry with it, could just as easily cry with missing Hanna. Wanting her to be here with him, with them, to be part of—whatever this is. 

“Hear hear,” Jon says, the giant dork. He nibbles a snap pea, and hands another one to Tommy. “So, how has this worked, when you two have done it before? Co-partnering through a heat or rut?” 

Tommy doesn’t move physically—but emotionally, his ears spring up like a rabbit’s. 

“Oh,” Ronan says, seeming startled, and looks up at Lovett. 

“Tommy was freaking out and thinking about going it alone; it seemed like a good time to share,” Lovett explains. “I didn’t give them a play-by-play.” 

“It’s gone a few different ways,” Ronan says, carefully. 

“I would say the two broad categories have been: Friend needs some help through their cycle, and, Wow double-rut is a lot and we could use a hand,” Lovett says.

“My ruts are sometimes just...absolutely vicious,” Ronan admits. “Sometimes they’re fine. The unpredictability is really what gets you.” 

“As a participant in each, let me just say, Tommy’s heat so far has been even more brutal than your worst rut, Ronan,” Lovett notes. “Definitely a team activity.” 

“_Yikes_,” Ronan says. He shift so he can look Tommy over sympathetically. His hand twitches up like he’s going to grip Tommy’s leg, but stops. Tommy’s skin prickles with awareness. It’s hard to smell his own scent, but he’s pretty sure it just did something. “We should have lunch when you’re back out of it,” Ronan continues. “Rut and heat are different, obviously, but I can share tips.” 

“Thanks,” Tommy says, feeling warm and—wet, too. He tries not to feed too much into the feeling. He has just experienced whole _minutes_ at a time without thinking about his cunt, and he would love to continue. 

“Yeah, tip one: industrial-size buckets of CeraVe with aloe,” Lovett jokes. “Tip two: make sure you have access to a dealer in the city where the rut and/or heat is taking place.” 

“That was _one time_,” Ronan protests, lightly. 

“He mauled my neck,” Lovett explains, with a grin. “Like, _mauled_. It was very hot, until his rut ended and it was still throbbing.” 

Tommy’s cunt gives an ominous pulse.

“Oh, is that when you came back from New York and wore a hoodie with the hood up for like two straight weeks?” Emily jumps in. 

“We didn’t say anything, but it was extremely suspicious,” Jon agrees. 

“Why are all my loved ones so observant,” Lovett complains. “I already have an investigative journalist for a partner, thank you. It’s enough.” 

“Just for the record, in my defense, I’m usually more subtle,” Ronan says. 

“I wouldn’t say marking me the same amount, but distributed across areas that are easier to cover, feels _subtle_,” Lovett replies. 

Ronan sets his teeth lightly against Lovett’s lower thigh through his sweatpants, and quickly releases him again—they all politely ignore Lovett’s scent spiking, except Tommy, who squirms against Lovett’s side, feeling wetter and emptier by the second. He shifts down so that he’s laying lengthwise on the couch, with his feet up by Emily’s lap—partially because he wants her to touch him, and partially so he can rub his thighs together. 

“You are _very _much in pre-rut. What a menace,” Lovett is telling Ronan. 

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Ronan replies, grinning, his chin set back on Lovett’s knee, all faux-angelic, butter-wouldn’t-melt.

“And _you_,” Lovett says, running a hand down Tommy’s side. Tommy’s curled up against him now, with his head pillowed on Lovett’s thigh. “How’re you doing?” Lovett asks pointedly. 

“Hmmmm,” Tommy delays. 

He’s...further into a new wave of heat than he’d like to admit. 

If Hanna were just _here_ already, this would be perfect. All his favorite people are here, except for her. All three of his favorite dogs are happy and accounted for. He’s been fed and cared for and held—and it’s okay that he’s pretty tired and pretty fucked out, and not really contributing much to the conversation. No one _minds_. No one expects anything more from him. All he has to do is nuzzle into Lovett’s side and tuck his toes under Emily’s thigh, and accept a carrot once in a while.

The last thing he wants to do is break this up, which is surely what will happen if he admits that he’s burning up and steadily soaking through these sweatpants.

“I ask because you—” Lovett stops short. “You smell _very_ good.” 

“Thanks,” Tommy says, rubbing his cheek against Lovett’s bare thigh. And then rubbing his throat against Lovett’s thigh, too. 

He might be scent-marking Lovett right now. He might be absolutely, blatantly scent-marking Lovett in front of everyone right now. _No jury would convict_, he thinks, fuzzily. 

He’s very tempted to lick Lovett’s hipbones. 

Ronan hums, quiet but deep in his chest, and Tommy shudders. He looks up. Ronan’s chin is still perched on Lovett’s other leg, giving him a great view of Tommy pretty much losing it over here. 

“Ooookay,” Lovett says, voice a little higher pitched than usual, scent expanding rapidly, one hand on each of them. “Um, I’m calling in backup. Backup: arise.” 

“Oh, so what you’re saying is, _we’re_ the relief pitchers now?” Jon jokes. He shuffles over and, with a hand on Tommy’s ribs for balance, kisses Lovett. 

Lovett groans against Jon’s mouth, his scent rapidly deepening, then shoves at Jon’s chest, dislodging him. “That’s _very much not what I meant are you trying to kill me_,” he tells Jon in a rush. 

“Couldn’t help myself,” Jon replies, with a devastating gap-toothed grin. Lovett audibly chokes. “Okay, Tom,” Jon adds. He takes one of Tommy’s hands. “Up we go.” 

Tommy gives Lovett’s thigh one last nuzzle, and then sits up obediently, right into Emily’s arms. 

Her skin is—_yes_—and her scent is sharp and buzzy. This is good. This is very good. He wants more of this immediately. He turns further toward her, rubbing their cheeks together, sticking his face into her loose hair, which holds so much of her scent. 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Ronan murmurs. “When it hits him, it _really_ hits him.” 

“Zero to sixty,” Lovett replies. 

“C’mon, Tommy,” Jon says, standing so he can gently pry Tommy out of Emily’s hair. “Bedroom time.” 

Tommy nuzzles back in, gulping in the hot, electric scent of her, even as she shifts to dislodge him. His head is fuzzy, and all his legs want to do is spread. Walking seems doable but not remotely worth it. Everything he needs is right here. 

They could all take care of this, right here. 

“Nope,” Emily says cheerfully, as Jon guides Tommy back out of her throat. “We are changing venues.” 

“Here is good,” Tommy gets out, still sitting, nuzzling between Jon’s legs now, trying to get a proper faceful of his subtler Beta scent. 

“Jesus,” Jon says, punched out. He pulls Tommy away gently by the hair, which only makes Tommy ache, all through his cunt and gut and up through his ribs. He arches into Jon’s hand. Emily has a hand on his back again, and it makes him go hot all over. 

He’s so wet. He’s so fucking wet, and they’re all _right here_. Why don’t they just _do it_. 

“Um,” Ronan says quietly from a couple feet away. 

“Yeah, I know, working on it,” Jon says. Sternly, “C’mon, Tom, we’re going.” 

Tommy groans, out of his head with all their scents, and pushes his face into Jon’s henley-covered stomach. God, if only Hanna were here. He wants to smell her, too. He wants to get her scent all _over_ him. 

“This might be a bad idea,” Jon says. At first he just squats, and then all at once Tommy is upside down, his weight steady over Jon’s shoulders, Jon holding him firmly by one arm and one leg. 

“_What_,” Lovett squawks. 

“A classic fireman’s carry,” Ronan says. “Bravo. Ten out of ten.”

“It feels just as good as it looks,” Emily sighs proudly. 

Ronan laughs, delighted, as Lovett makes an offended noise.

“_Emily_,” Jon says pointedly. 

“Right!” she replies, and hops up to clear the curious dogs away, and open the puppy gate, and guide Jon into the guest room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has no major archive warnings. If you want more specific, spoilery content warnings for this chapter, check the chapter endnotes!

Jon is clearly trying to lay him down carefully, but Tommy is heavy, so it ends up feeling more like he’s flinging Tommy down on the bed. 

Tommy likes it a lot. Very bodice-ripper. A ridiculous thought, and he’s wet all down his thighs about it. 

“Jon,” Tommy says. He’s trying to communicate, but it comes out like begging. He refuses to let Jon back up, clinging to him with both arms. “Want—”

“Just let me move you up the bed, Tom,” Jon replies, carefully unwinding Tommy’s arm from around his shoulders. Tommy’s legs are dangling off the end of the bed, and Jon is still mostly standing, bending over him.

Tommy grudgingly lets Jon guide him to the middle of the bed. Emily climbs up too, so he’s hemmed in, one of them on either side of him. 

Emily presses a kiss to Jon’s cheek, and another to Tommy’s, and lets Tommy pull her on top of him. 

It feels so good, so achingly familiar, to have a smaller body over his, warm and pleasantly heavy. Long hair ticklish on his shoulders. 

God, he misses Hanna. 

He stretches his throat long and slides a hand under her loose sweatshirt, wanting to feel more of her skin.

“Yeah?” she says. She licks over his throat, his collar bones, his nipples, making him gasp and clench down around nothing. 

“Emily,” he rasps. He can’t get distracted, can’t get lost in his head. It wouldn’t be fair to Emily or to Hanna. 

He looks at her, clever and small and in charge. Everywhere she’s touching him feels electric, and she’s not even anywhere near his cunt, which is one big pounding ache. 

“Tell us what you want,” Jon murmurs in his ear, warm, running a hand down Tommy’s arm. 

“_Em_,” he groans again, more urgently, past finding the right words. He slides a hand around her hip, toward her clit. 

He’s never touched her there, and stops short, afraid she doesn’t want him to. His legs are twitching with how much he wants to spread them for her, let her have him. 

She lifts her mouth from his nipple. The intent look on her face makes him flash even hotter. 

“Is this what you want, Tommy?” she asks quietly, and takes him by the wrist. She pulls him just a few inches over, so he’s cupping her swelling clit. Her scent burns all the way down his throat. 

Tommy is going to pass the fuck out from how much he fucking wants this. He rubs at her with his hot palm, and whines, and helplessly pulls one knee out to the side so that she’s between his legs. 

“What do you think, Jon?” Emily asks, tearing her eyes away from Tommy to look at him. “Should I give him my clit or should we find some other way to fuck him?”

Tommy hadn’t thought about that. He asked her to fuck him once earlier, and she’d fucked him with her hand instead. 

He knows this is Jon and Emily’s first time doing anything like this, just like it’s his. But had they talked about it before, or are they figuring it out on the fly, like he and Hanna are? 

“Give it to him,” Jon tells her. He catches Tommy’s eye, and runs his fingers over Tommy’s cheek, his throat, collarbone, nipples—still wet from Emily’s mouth, jesus. Tommy arches up into his touch, wishing he had words for the trust and sweetness he’s feeling for them, taking this leap with him.

Tearing his eyes from Tommy slowly, Jon adds, “Just first let me—” and he brushes Emily’s hair away from her throat and bites down, just like that. 

Emily hisses, then flushes dark. Tommy feels her swell to full hardness in the palm of his hand. 

“Fuck,” she gasps, holding Jon’s head to the spot where her neck and shoulder meet. “Yes, fuck, jesus _christ_, yes.” 

Jon pulls back slowly, licking at the bite, nipping her collarbone, making her clit twitch in Tommy’s palm. “Mine,” he murmurs.

“Point taken,” Emily gasps. 

She’s digging her nails into the back of Jon’s neck. Tommy can’t look away from her grip on him.

“You can be Tommy’s too, if you’d like,” Jon says. 

She runs her nails through Jon’s short hair. “I would mark the fuck out of you right now if we weren’t killing Tommy,” she tells him. 

“Later,” Jon murmurs. He unceremoniously yanks off his own shirt, and Emily’s sweatshirt. She’s not wearing anything underneath. Tommy’s mouth waters. His sweatpants are the next to go. Emily takes care of her leggings too, and kneels back up between Tommy’s legs. 

She pushes Tommy’s knee back out to the side, where he’d put it before. Jon slides a pillow under Tommy’s ass. 

Tommy swallows a moan, staring up at her like she’s a god. 

“Is this how you want it?” she asks. 

He’d take it however she wanted to give it to him, but he fucking loves this—underneath her, wet and open and waiting. He nods, and keeps nodding until she slides her clit into him.

He arches—moans—closes his eyes. It’s so sweet to have her inside him like this, bare and hot. It makes him _ache_. 

“_Fuck_,” she gasps out. “Fuck, god, Tommy.” She’s moving slowly but firmly, and gripping his leg hard. “Jon, kiss him for me, will you?” 

Jon’s long fingers play along his jaw, turning his face, and then Jon’s licking into his mouth as Emily fucks him, and Tommy is all the way gone. 

He gets fucked and kissed for—minutes, hours? There isn’t a single thought in his heat-soaked head. He definitely comes somewhere in there, though, because when he blinks back to himself, he’s panting and aftershocks are zinging through his stomach. 

Jon is cupping one side of his throat and kissing the other side, tender. 

Emily is slowly dying above him, her scent huge and electric. Tommy tries to lock down around her, and her hips stutter. 

“Tommy?” she gasps. “Are you—can I—” and as soon as he nods, she groans and rests her forehead on his chest and comes in him. 

He whines: she hasn’t knotted him. There’s no extra stretch, even as she spills hot inside his cunt.

“Hon?” Jon says, and it takes Tommy a moment to realize he’s talking to Tommy. 

“I want—um.” She’s literally inside him, and it’s still hard to say. “I want Em’s knot,” he breathes. 

Emily groans, and licks at his chest. “Sorry, Tommy,” she pants, still pushing the last of her come into him. “Next time.” 

She pulls out but otherwise doesn’t move an inch, laying down right on top of Tommy.

Jon pets down her back and ass, and then slides his hand between Tommy’s legs. 

“She doesn’t usually knot,” he explains. “It’s too much to do every time, especially since I’m not O.”

“I love you just the way you are,” Emily mumbles, reaching out blindly for Jon. 

“I know, babe,” Jon chuckles. 

He’s cupping Tommy’s cunt like this is just a normal thing he and Tommy do. Tommy wishes it were a normal thing they did. Jon could come touch him whenever—Tommy wants Jon to touch him all the time—

“Tom, what do you think?” he says “Good for now, or should we give you more?” 

“I don’t know,” Tommy manages, shifting a little into Jon’s hand. He rests one hand on Emily’s bare, sweaty back, and she sighs against his chest. 

It must be well past midnight. Emily is clearly exhausted. Hell, they’re all exhausted. Tommy doesn’t really feel satiated—but it’s a relief just to not be desperate. 

He needs to rest. They all do. They should just go to sleep, and deal with this in the morning. 

Emily yawns against his sternum, as if in agreement, and he yawns too. 

“Contagious,” Jon mumbles, which means he’s fighting a yawn off himself. 

“Nap?” Tommy says, petting Emily’s back slower. “I’m pretty wiped.”

“Mmmm,” Emily replies. She shifts so she’s tucked against Tommy’s side instead of fully on top of him, and nuzzles into his side. 

“I think Emily’s already there,” Jon chuckles. “But that’s not surprising.” 

“_Mmmmmmm_,” Emily protests vigorously.

“Weak link,” Jon teases. 

Emily squints one eye open. “Are you kidding?” she grumbles. “On a normal Thursday, I go to bed at like 9:30 p.m. It’s 2 in the morning right now. I’m doing _great_. I _rallied_.” 

“I know, babe,” Jon chuckles. “I know.” 

They’re quiet for a minute, and Emily’s breath deepens into sleep. Tommy can barely keep his eyes open, but he can’t seem to get comfortable either. 

He groans quietly, frustrated. 

“Tom?” Jon mumbles. He kisses Tommy’s forehead. The touch pours down Tommy’s back like a hot shower.

“Will you just...put a couple fingers in me,” Tommy mumbles, embarrassed. 

“Yeah, Tom,” Jon replies, and slides two fingers inside, easy as anything. 

Tommy moans, low and deep in his chest, tilting his hips into Jon’s hand once and then falling still. 

“”m so tired,” he groans. 

“I know,” Jon murmurs. 

Jon's fingers are warm inside Tommy, and pleasantly thick when Tommy grips down around them. His scent is even and soothing. All together, it does make Tommy feel a little better. But he can’t settle down. He feels a bit like an idiot college kid who decided to have caffeine in the middle of the night: both jittery and exhausted.

“What is it, Tommy?” Jon whispers. 

Tommy has an idea of what it is, if he’s honest. But he’s too exhausted to do any more big conversations right now. He just wants to sleep. Can’t he just sleep? His body won’t even let him fucking _sleep_?

He’s going to cry out of pure frustration. 

He shouldn’t do that, though. He’ll wake Emily. 

“Come on, Tom,” Jon murmurs. “Just tell me. What’s the worst that could happen?”

All of them are so kind. They’re so unafraid. Tommy doesn’t deserve them. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, and says haltingly, “I think I need—Lovett. And—and Ronan. Too.” 

Tommy feels Jon freeze. “Oh,” he says.

How _dare_ Tommy make Jon feel like he’s not enough. 

He wants to curl up into a horrible needy ball and disappear and never ask anyone for anything ever again. 

Jon carefully, but awkwardly, pulls his fingers out of Tommy. “Do you want me to wake Em—or—?” he asks as he pulls a shirt back on. 

Tommy shakes his head. _Horrible. Horrible._ Tommy shouldn’t have said anything. The two of them on either side of him, so good and kind and smelling like they want him—surely that’s enough. He shouldn’t need any more than that. Why the fuck would he need more than that?

“Just—I’ll go get them,” Jon continues, and slips out the door.

Tommy pulls his gross sweats back on and then shoves the nearest pillow over his face. 

If he can deal (badly) with Hanna being halfway across the goddamn world, he can sure as hell deal with Lovett being in the other room, and Ronan—who he hasn’t even _asked_ about any of this, _fuck_—being wherever the hell he wants to be. 

Why did he say anything? Why can’t he just _deal_? He’s had sleepless nights before.

Tommy hears the door open, and he nudges the pillow away so they don’t see him acting like a child. He turns his face toward Emily instead. He can smell Lovett and Ronan, as well as Jon’s Beta undercurrent. They’re all here for him, even though he’s being horrible to them, taking up their space and time, making them lose sleep and insulting them. 

“Tom?” Jon says softly from the doorway. “They’re here. Let me wake Emily up?” 

“What?” Tommy whispers. “No, let her rest.” 

Tommy feels Jon sit on the other side of the bed, where Emily is sleeping. “I thought you said you wanted Lovett and Ronan?” 

_Oh_. It would almost be easier, if that was what he wanted. They could take turns, and everybody would get breaks from dealing with Tommy. But that wasn’t what he’d meant at all. He’s going to feel just as restless if Jon and Emily aren’t here. 

“I want them _too_,” Tommy mumbles. 

“Oh,” Jon says. He squeezes Tommy’s hand. 

“I know this is stupid,” Tommy adds. 

“No. It’s not,” Jon replies. “I’m glad you want us here. I—um, I thought you wanted me and Emily to go away.” 

“No,” Tommy says. _Never_, he almost says, and manages to suppress. 

“We’ll all stay with you, then,” Jon murmurs. “Just rest.” He leans over and kisses Tommy once, firmly, before settling in behind Emily.

Tommy forces himself to sit up and look over at the doorway, where Lovett and Ronan are still standing, looking just as sleepy as he feels. Ronan is standing behind Lovett, holding him around the waist.

The only negotiation Tommy has done with Ronan is telling Ronan he could be in the same room while they all ate. He trusts Ronan to know his own boundaries, especially since Ronan and Lovett have done this before, but it’s still not great to invite somebody into your bed without talking to them at all. 

“Ronan,” he starts. 

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s beyond exhausted. Maybe Lovett has already talked to Ronan, has done the heavy lifting for him. But that’s not really the same—so Tommy needs to be responsible, or at least try.

What comes out of his mouth is: “I’m—I should have—you should do whatever you want.” 

Ronan stills. Tilts his head. “You mean, kiss you while you’re all sleepy and sweet?” 

Tommy feels actual butterflies, like he’s twelve and his crush just checked _yes_ on a _do you like me, yes or no? _note. 

“Is that what you want?” Tommy says. 

“Yes,” Ronan replies plainly.

“Um, have at it,” Tommy says. 

Lovett stops biting the inside of his own cheek and lets out a big smile. 

“Just, fair warning that I am literally falling asleep,” Tommy adds, with a punctuating yawn. 

“That’s all right,” Ronan replies. He comes around to Tommy’s side of the bed, and Lovett hops up at Tommy’s feet. “Honestly, seeing you so pliant when you’re usually so high-strung is—something.” 

“Something, mmm?” Tommy murmurs, and then Ronan’s thumbing at his bottom lip, and rubbing their lips in a non-kiss, and, finally, pressing them together. 

Kissing Ronan reminds Tommy a lot of shotgunning—slow, absorbing, somewhat dizzying.

When Ronan puts a hand on Tommy’s jaw to better tilt his face, Tommy feels heat pour into his belly, and loses all hope that he’s going to get to sleep anytime soon. 

“Oh my god, don’t send him into another round,” Lovett hisses. “Ronan, what the fuck.” 

Ronan draws back slowly, pecking Tommy once, and again. Tommy leans into his space, wanting him to keep going. 

“You’re very sweet like this,” Ronan says. Tommy goes pink. “And I’m sorry if I made it worse.” 

“You _definitely_ made it worse,” Lovett says. “He’s starting another wave now; I can smell him.” 

Tommy yawns hugely. “I think the problem is more that I didn’t ever quite finish the last wave,” he says. 

“What?” Lovett says. 

“I—uh.” It seems impolite to say what had been missing. He shoots a look at Emily, who, to his surprise, is awake enough to have her eyes just barely slit open. 

“Em didn’t knot him,” Jon helpfully supplies. 

“‘m _s’rry_,” Emily mumbles, sounding half cranky and half apologetic. “ ‘m outta _practice_.” 

She nuzzles her face into Jon’s shoulder, sleepy. She is very cute. 

Lovett crawls up close enough to cradle Tommy’s cheek. “My my my,” he says. “You get it once and you don’t want it any other way, huh?” 

“Pretty much,” Tommy says. He feels his face go red, hot against Lovett’s palm. 

“Want me to give it to you again?” Lovett says. 

_Jesus_.

“Yes, Lo’,” Tommy says. He can feel his heartbeat in his cunt. “And—” he stops. 

How can he possibly say _and_, after all this?

“And?” Lovett says, because he is fundamentally unable to let things go. 

Tommy’s heart is racing. “Will you heat-bond with me?” he asks, quiet. 

Ronan’s scent spikes, and Tommy startles. 

“Uh, is that—?” Tommy asks. He hopes he hasn’t stepped on any toes. He still doesn’t really get how Alpha territory stuff works. 

“Oh no—no, no—I’m _very_ pleased with that idea,” Ronan replies, a little pink himself. 

“Lovett?” Tommy says, turning back to him. 

Lovett takes one of Tommy’s hands in both of his. “Tommy, I would honestly be honored.” 

Tommy just about wants to melt, and instead he does the only thing that feels possible, which is to bend his head and nuzzle under Lovett’s jaw, where his scent is so deep and good. 

“That’s good, Tommy,” Lovett murmurs, holding his head. “Is that the way you want to do it?” 

“Mmm?” Tommy asks, licking at his throat. 

“You want to bite me, like before?” Lovett says. 

“Wait, what?” Jon says. 

Tommy is definitely blushing down his chest and his back now. He can’t bring himself to care much. He feels—high. He’s lightheaded with fever, giddy with the prospect of heat-bonding with Lovett, turned on out of his fucking mind, and full of relief at having them all right here with him.

If Hanna were here too, it would be perfect. 

But he can’t fixate on that. He’ll go crazy if he thinks about her in a plane full of strangers, smelling like nothing but filtered air—not right up against him, skin to skin, scents mingling, where he needs her. 

“Tommy just about bit my throat, before,” Lovett explains, interrupting Tommy’s spiral. “I told him I wasn’t opposed but it needed to be an actual decision, not an instinct thing.” He pets Tommy’s hair and shoulders. “But you can have it now, if you want. Just not right in front, please. I am a public figure.” 

Jon and Emily both snort, which makes Ronan break out in giggles. 

Tommy is full to the brim with love for them—exhausted, in bed with him anyway, laughing anyway. 

He licks Lovett’s throat again, making Lovett shiver. God, his scent is so good—right—_there_, where Lovett’s throat and shoulder connect. 

“That’s a good spot,” Lovett murmurs, encouragingly. 

“No,” Tommy mutters. He licks at the spot again. “I want you to do it to _me_. I want—I want—” 

He wants too much: heat has made him ravenous. 

“What is it you want, sweetheart?” Lovett says. He fists his hand in Tommy’s hair, careful, and drags Tommy slowly away from his throat. 

“I want all of you to bite me.” It just spills out of Tommy mouth. 

Everyone’s scents go haywire at once. Tommy, dizzy with their scents and his fever, tilts his face back, exposing his throat, letting Lovett’s hand bear the weight of Tommy’s head. 

“Jesus christ,” Emily slurs. “I was halfway back asleep and now my clit is hard all over again.” 

“Yeah, well, rein it in,” Lovett replies, holding Tommy steady, not looking away from him. “Let’s wait until he’s firing on all cylinders before we all do that, huh?”

“‘Course,” Emily replies, over a yawn. 

“But you’ll—Lo’, _you’ll _still—” Tommy begs. 

“Yes, Tommy,” Lovett replies. He starts guiding Tommy down, then stops. “Hey,” he says, hesitant for the first time. “Can Ronan hold you, during?” 

“_Yes_,” Tommy says. “Yes. Lo, please—”

Lovett leans in and kisses his open mouth, measured, taking everything he wants. “I’m giving it to you, Tommy, stop worrying.” 

All at once, Tommy’s eyes go hot and the tears spill over his cheeks and into his ears. 

“That’s good, Tommy,” Lovett says. “You’re so good for us. All of us. Lean back.” 

Tommy leans back, and is settled against Ronan’s chest. Ronan must be propped up on some pillows, because he’s reclined at an angle, his chest and stomach relaxed against Tommy’s back. He wraps his arms around Tommy’s torso, resting his hands on Tommy’s ribs. “Is this okay?” he murmurs. 

“Yes,” Tommy says, sniffling back more tears. “I like it.” His eyes are fixed on Lovett, who’s kneeling before the two of them, taking them in. He feels suspended in the two of them, right in the middle of their matched, rising scents. Lovett crawls closer, between the vee of Tommy’s legs, and puts his hands on Tommy’s hips so he can lean in and kiss his cheek and jaw and throat. 

Now there are four hands on him. 

“Jesus,” Emily hisses beside them. 

Tommy turns his head to look at her and Jon. Lovett is tracing all the tendons in Tommy’s neck with his tongue, and it’s driving him slowly insane. 

Emily’s watching. “Jon, can I—?” she blurts.

“Literally _any time_,” Jon replies, flushed and visibly hard in his sweats. 

“Great,” she says, and knocks him on his back and puts her teeth in his throat, just like that. 

It looks so easy—so natural for them. They must do it all the time, Tommy thinks. 

Jon moans, and then whines, his hand coming up to hold her head to his throat seemingly of its own volition. 

“Oh my god,” Ronan murmurs, his chest vibrating beneath Tommy’s back. 

“What?” Lovett mumbles, from where he’s investigating Tommy’s suprasternal notch. 

“Emily’s _really_ got her teeth in Jon,” Ronan replies. 

Lovett’s scent spikes, and he leans back to look. Jon’s hips arch into empty air before Em notices and puts a thigh between his.

“Nice work, Em,” Lovett declares. “I would say I didn’t know you had it in you, except that I remember a particular day in 2011 when Favreau here came into work at the actual White House with your marks all over him, all blushy and cute.” 

Emily, with remarkable presence of mind for somebody in the middle of biting their partner, flips Lovett off, which sets him and Ronan off laughing. Jon, eyelids fluttering, seems oblivious. 

Tommy tugs at the strings on Lovett’s sweatshirt and whines. 

“I’m getting to you,” Lovett replies, still joking, but he softens when he sees Tommy’s face. “You’ve waited long enough, huh?” 

Tommy pulls at the strings again. 

“Yeah, Tommy,” Lovett murmurs. He kisses Tommy’s mouth, his forehead, his cheek. “You’ve waited long enough.” 

He sets his teeth lightly on the side of Tommy’s throat, a few inches below his ear. Tommy can hardly breathe with anticipation. When Tommy tugs his sweatshirt strings again, past words, Lovett bites. 

Tommy’s never experienced pain in this way before. He can feel the sharpness of a firm bite; he can feel the roaring lust of receiving such a bite while in heat; but over and beside and underneath all that is a sort of sweetness, a certainty, a lightness. Like wind picking up, coming through, strong enough to catch a kite and take it flying. 

When Lovett unlatches, a minute or an hour later, Tommy is breathing deep, clutching Lovett to him with both hands. Ronan’s hands, which Tommy had barely noticed, are on his forehead and his ribs respectively, holding him in place. Lovett licks and licks and licks over the bite until Tommy, soothed, lets his hands drop away. 

“Beautiful,” murmurs Jon, from what seems like a long way off. 

“Focus, honey,” Emily replies. 

Tommy opens his eyes to a perfect view of Jon and Emily. Jon returns to eating Emily out expertly, with one hand firm around her clit. If Tommy could get any hotter at the sight, he would, but he’s already pouring sweat from what feels like every single pore of his body. 

“How’re you doing in there, sweetheart?” Lovett asks. 

Tommy’s attention locks back in on him. He manages to shimmy out of his sweats without disturbing Ronan’s hold around his ribs. 

“I see,” Lovett laughs. “How about—?” 

He pulls at Tommy’s hips until he’s laying on his side with Lovett behind him, both of them facing Ronan, who’s still resting on his back, slouched down a little more than before. 

Tommy makes a wordless but distinctly uncertain sound. 

“Is this okay?” Lovett asks. “I want to make out with you through all of this, believe me, but please further believe me when I say you’re going to be more comfortable falling asleep while we’re knotted together if I fuck you from behind.” 

_Well, jesus, if _that’s_ the logic—_ Tommy shifts one thigh forward, hooking it over Ronan’s nearest leg, giving Lovett easier access to his wet hole. 

“Yeah,” Lovett laughs. “I thought you’d be on board.” He kisses the fresh bite on Tommy’s neck and slides his cock inside. 

“_Fuck_,” Tommy chokes. It’s intensely good. He rocks forward, grinding his cock against Ronan’s thigh, and then backward, getting Lovett’s cock deeper in his cunt. 

“Yeah, honey, I know,” Lovett murmurs. “Go on, take what you need.” 

Lovett can’t get as much leverage, positioned like this, but he rocks into Tommy steadily, gnawing casually at his neck and shoulders, and licking pointedly over his bite, making Tommy shake and cry out and bury his face in Ronan’s side. 

“Shhhh, you’re doing good,” Ronan gentles him. Then, nervously, “Can I—? Tommy?” His hand is creeping toward his waistband. 

“Uh _huh_,” Tommy says pointedly, as Lovett fucks into him. “_Ahh_—!” 

Lovett’s knot has started to expand, pushing Tommy’s cunt wider from the inside. Tommy is losing his goddamn mind. 

“Fantastic,” Ronan declares, like the nerd he is, and slips his hand into his own sweatpants. He doesn’t pull his cock out, because he’s also _a giant tease_, Tommy thinks distantly, but Tommy can see his hand moving urgently under the fabric, can smell his scent deepening, even as Lovett’s does the same at his back. 

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, and just feels it, lets the reality sink into him: all five of them in the room together, ratcheting up—Jon working himself up while he gets Emily off, and Ronan getting himself off, and Lovett getting off _inside_ Tommy, fuck fuck _fuck_—

Tommy clutches Ronan’s arm and comes hard. Lovett swears colorfully, locked inside, clearly feeling it every time Tommy’s cunt contracts. 

Tommy comes back to himself a little later, and makes a vague inquisitive noise. He doesn’t usually sleep on his side, but on the other hand he doesn’t want to move, at all, ever again.

Lovett mumbles something incoherent against the back of his neck. 

Tommy relaxes again without even opening his eyes. He can smell that Jon and Emily are still here. He’s pressed up tight against Ronan, and Lovett is thick and soothing inside him. 

This feels good. This is right. 

He lets himself float toward sleep, thoughts drifting through without keeping his attention. 

He’s going to get a crick in his neck if he sleeps like this. 

Jon’s scent is soothing.

Lovett’s arm is heavy on his ribs. 

Heavier than he’s used to—heavier than Hanna’s arm.

Ronan is so warm.

He sinks further, right on the edge of sleep. Smelling all of them, piled together like this, is like physically breathing in safety. He doesn’t have to worry about a thing.

There’s a sensation like warmth behind his eyes, and blooming down through his sternum, and after a slow moment Tommy realizes it’s gratitude. 

Then, he’s asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: some pretty extensive consensual biting. (FYI: A bite that breaks the skin is considered very risky or unsafe play irl. But it's perfectly safe within this fictional ABO world.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :) 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has no major archive warnings. If you want more specific, spoilery content warnings for this chapter, check the chapter endnotes! There are a few!

Tommy wakes up with what can only be described as a yelp, when someone puts their—elbow? hand? entire body weight?—directly into his stomach. Tommy follows the yelp up with a moderately more dignified “_Fuck_!” 

The offending limb has already removed itself. “Sorry sorry sorry sorry,” Emily says. He catches her scent, and then feels the ends of her hair tickling his face. “Shit, sorry,” she says again, and the bed bounces as she settles back into her spot.

Tommy blinks a couple times. Most of his field of vision is taken up by Ronan’s shirt. The rest of the room is bathed in pinkish light: it must be early. 

“What’s _happening_,” Jon moans from the other side of the bed. 

“Hanna called,” Emily replies. “Seriously, did none of you hear Tommy’s phone vibrating on the nightstand? Because I was dead asleep, and I heard it. I came straight out of a dream about adopting a dog with Sherrod Brown.” 

Jon groans and laughs at the same time, rolling over to cling to her legs.

“Wait. _What_,” Tommy croaks, and squirms upright—dislodging Lovett’s cock, which he, uh, hadn’t realized was still in there, in the process. Yikes. “Oh my god,” he adds, looking down at Lovett, whose face is scrunching up sleepily. 

“This is...one way to wake up,” Lovett mumbles. 

“Everyone shut up, I’m trying to call her back,” Emily demands. 

“Please let the record reflect that I have been _a silent angel_,” Ronan whispers. 

“He’s where our dog-ter gets it from,” Lovett says sleepily. He and Ronan high-five clumsily, narrowing missing Tommy’s face.

“Ronan, Lovett, I _swear to g—_Hanna!” Emily says. 

Everybody shuts up. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I got you—yes—yes!—he’s fine, he’s right here, let me—” she hands the phone to Tommy, who clutches it with both hands, a smile blooming over his face.

“Hanna?” he says. His voice is still low and scratchy with sleep. 

“Hey, you,” she replies. 

He goes warm all over for her. He wants to nuzzle his face into her stomach and never leave. 

“How are you holding up?” she asks. 

“Couple, uh, speedbumps, but I’m doing really good, Hanna. I’m feeling really—safe.” He glances up and sees four sets of eyes boring into him. “Hey,” he adds, “one sec, I’m gonna switch this so we can all talk.” With great care, he turns on speakerphone.

“Can you still hear me?” he says.

“Yeah, perfectly,” Hanna replies. “Is everybody there?”

“Everybody but you,” Tommy replies. 

Hanna laughs, sounding relieved. “Wow, heat makes you even _more_ of a sap?” she teases. “Can’t wait to see it.” 

He grins. He wants to hold her so badly his hands are tingling. “Are you—?” He stops: he can’t bear guessing. She couldn’t possibly be at LAX yet, unless she commandeered a plane and flew herself here. 

“I’m in Brisbane,” she replies. “The WiFi was shit at the Port Moresby airport, but I just landed in Brisbane and I ran across the whole fucking terminal in time to hit this transfer, so I’m getting on a plane in like 5 minutes, and this one is a direct flight to LAX, okay?” 

“Oh my god,” he says, and his whole face breaks out in a smile. “Oh my god, Hanna, really?” 

“It was the fastest route I could figure out,” she continues apologetically, like he’s not about to collapse with happiness. “All the direct flights from Papua New Guinea to the States were long since sold out, and so were the first several to Australia, so I was just on standby, waiting for somebody to fuck up and not get to the airport in time to get on a plane to Brisbane, and it finally happened, and now I’m here, and I’m boarding a plane to LAX in like—basically now. Group 2 is boarding and I’m in Group 5.” 

“Oh my god, Hanna.” He’s crying again, apparently, because everyone reaches over to comfort him. He has a hand on each knee, a hand on his thigh, and a hand between his shoulder blades. He breathes. “You’re amazing,” he tells her. “I’m so in love with you. Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me!” she replies, the line crackling a little. “I wanted to be passing over Hawaii by now, and I really tried, but—” 

“Stop stop stop,” he cuts in, wiping his eyes. “I thought it was gonna take _days_. So you’re gonna be here—today, then. Right? Tonight?” 

“Yes,” she replies. “It’s a thirteen hour flight. And then I’ll get a cab and get to you as fast as I can.” 

“Hanna, you’re a goddamn superhero,” he says, and reaches for the nearest hands to clutch in his. 

“I mean, I wanted to g—” 

“TAKE THE GODDAMN COMPLIMENT, HANNA,” Emily insists, directly into the phone. 

Hanna’s laughter comes through the line, bright and clear. “Okay! I’m a superhero. I’m getting there as fast as I can, I promise.” There’s a pause. Tommy hears a call for Group 4 to board in the background. “Actually, on that note, where are you all? Are you at our place?” 

“No, we’re at our place,” Emily tells her. 

“Got it, I’ll come straight there,” Hanna says. “I’ve gotta warn you—I’m gonna be unwashed and disgusting, so.” 

All five of them look up at one another, and laugh. 

“Just trust me when I tell you it’s gonna be nothing compared to what’s happening here,” Emily replies. 

Quieting down, they hear the tail end of Hanna’s laugh over the line. “So, what, it’s been a four-person, two-day orgy? And nobody brought a single wet wipe?” 

Tommy and Ronan glance at one another. 

“Um, it’s actually a five-person orgy now,” Ronan says, leaning in close to the phone. 

“Ronan!” Hanna says. 

“Hanna!” he chirps back, with a slow grin. 

“You’re there too!” 

“I am. I got in partway through yesterday,” he replies. 

“I’m glad,” she says, warm, and Tommy relaxes even though he’d been _sure_ it was fine. She continues, “Are you keeping Lovett in line?” 

All five of them laugh again. 

“I resent that,” Lovett calls, hooking his chin over Tommy’s shoulder for better access to the phone. “But yes, he is.” 

Hanna laughs again. “You weren’t kidding when you said everybody is there but me,” she says, sadness creeping into her voice. 

“Yeah, but we miss you, Hanna,” Emily says. 

“We really miss you,” Jon agrees. 

“Like, Tommy is pretty sad about it, obviously,” Emily jumps back in, “but really what’s happening is, we _all_ miss you a lot, and the rest of us are just trying to not talk about it unless Tommy initiates, so we don’t make Tommy even sadder.” She glances up and adds, “Sorry, Tommy.” 

“Don’t apologize for that,” Tommy replies, touched. He wants to hug her, but there are too many people in the bed to move around, so they just hug with their eyes. 

“Thanks, Em,” Hanna replies, clearly hugging with her voice. 

“So get here really fast, okay?” Emily says. 

“I’m trying!” Hanna replies. “I’m actually on the jetbridge now, but—” she drops her voice quieter “—fuck it, I’m just going to be that person who boards the plane and keeps talking until they rip the phone out of my hand.” 

Tommy laughs. He feels giddy. Hanna is one of the kindest and most thoughtful people he knows, but she is also completely confident in her values and priorities. If she has decided that she cares more about talking to Tommy than she does about observing airplane etiquette, then that’s what she’ll do, and she’ll have absolutely no compunction about it. 

He loves that about her. He wishes he were there to watch her brazenly ignore everyone glaring at her. 

“I can feel your pride through the phone, Tommy,” Hanna says, and Tommy giggles harder. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, through the laughter. 

“You too,” she replies. Her voice is so low and full. He wants to curl up inside it. “Also, wow, truly, what have they been doing to you?” 

“I know, I’m all over the place,” Tommy replies.

“It’s less us and more his own body, to be honest,” Lovett says. “His hormones are crazy right now, which I can tell because he keeps crying.” 

“Tommy!” Hanna says. “You barely ever cry.” 

“I _know_,” Tommy and Lovett say at once, with completely different tones of voice. They laugh.

“But anyway,” Lovett adds, “mostly we’ve been getting him off a lot. And, um. And I heat-bonded him.” 

“Oh!” Hanna says, and nothing else. 

“...Is that okay?” Tommy asks, stomach twisting. 

“Of course it is,” she says. “I told you to do whatever you wanted, and I’m glad you—how do I put it—I’m glad that you’re feeling that connected. I’m just—also jealous.” 

“I mean, I—” he clears his throat awkwardly. “I want us to do it too. I want—um. Hanna. I want your teeth in me as soon as possible.” 

“Tommy,” she murmurs, so low he shivers. “You are not allowed to turn me on when I’m getting on a thirteen-hour international flight.” 

Tommy chuckles for her, since she can’t see his face. “So—you will?” he asks, trying to shake off the spark of lust that she’s ignited in his gut. 

“Uh, _yeah _I will,” Hanna says. “Like, _two seconds after I walk in the door_ I will.” He blushes heavily, and stares at the phone, as though he could will her to appear now. “I have a _lot_ more to say on that topic,” she adds, “but I am, again, _on a plane_.” 

“Hey,” Emily says, leaning in close to the phone. “Hanna, this is your five-second inappropriateness warning, prepare yourself, okay, great, so—before this plane takes off, I have to ask you, if—so, if Tommy hypothetically begged for all of us to bite him when he was basically blind with heat last night—and I’d have to talk to him and see if he actually still wants that in the light of day, sorry Tommy—but, uh, it kind of seems like that’s where this is going, so while we have you on the phone, if he asks for that again, how would you feel about us...giving it to him?” 

“Emily,” Hanna whispers. “Fuck, what did I _just_ say.” 

“So...that’s a maybe?” Emily asks, a little grin appearing in her cheek. 

“Emily, I’m telling you you just got me _hard and wet on a plane_, you jerk,” Hanna hisses.

“Oh!” Emily says, clearly shocked. “Um! I was—I didn’t know I could do that! To you.” 

Hanna clears her throat. “To answer your question, yes. If he wants that, you should give it to him,” Hanna says, carefully vague, mindful of her surroundings. “Just—leave space for me.” 

Tommy goes pink. When he notices that Emily is blushing too, he goes even redder. 

There are some vague loudspeaker noises from Hanna’s end of the call. “Okay,” she murmurs. “_Now_ I have to tie a sweatshirt around my waist and go put a _gallon_ of scent-neutralizer on in the plane bathroom before takeoff. Otherwise I’m gonna get thrown off this flight, probably.” 

“Sorry, babe!” Emily says, making a _yikes what did I do_ face at the rest of them. Tommy squeezes her hand.

“I love you,” Tommy says, leaning in, as though he could touch Hanna if he could just get close enough to the phone.

“I love you too,” Hanna says. “I’m gonna be there as soon as I can. Okay—I’ve really gotta—I love you.” 

“I love you,” he says again. “Go, go.” 

“Okay,” she says, and the line goes dead. 

Tommy sits back. 

Even with five people squished into one bed, he feels her sudden absence acutely. 

“Well!” Emily breaks the silence. She squeezes Tommy’s hand again, before letting go of him and stretching luxuriously. “We have our work cut out for us, huh team?” 

“Oh my god,” Jon snorts, pushing her shoulder lightly. “_Emily_.” 

“What! It’s true!” she replies, but she’s laughing. 

Tommy is bright red again. 

“No objections to that plan, at all,” he says. He feels everybody’s attention snap to him, kind of like several directional heat lamps got turned on at once. “But can we eat first? And I’m thinking I could manage a shower.” 

“Observe: he’s developing survival instincts,” Lovett declares, like he’s on a nature show. Tommy elbows him. “Observe—he_—displays signs of aggression_!” Lovett adds pointedly, and everyone laughs.

“Okay, really, I’m gonna shower,” Tommy says. “I’m disgusting.” 

“I disagree, you smell amazing, but yes. Of course,” Lovett says. “You can take a shower while Jon makes us all eggs _right now immediately_—” Jon sleepily sketches a salute “—and meanwhile I’ll Postmates us one of every single breakfast item in a five-mile radius, how’s that?” 

“Let’s do it,” Ronan says, and gives Lovett another sleepy high five.

“Go team,” Tommy says.

* * * 

Tommy finds his shower sort of lonely, which is weird. Usually he would be desperately seeking some alone time to recover from 24 straight hours of what could be loosely described as social interaction. 

He chalks it up to heat pheromones, and tries not to let it detract from the pure joy of hot water on his sore muscles. 

It’s a relief to wash all the sweat and come off of and out of himself. As much as he loves having their _scents_ all over his body, he doesn’t enjoy being sticky. Just...everywhere. 

He’s pretty tempted to finger himself, which is objectively insane, since he got off about a thousand times yesterday. He resists, and instead hops out of the shower and dries himself off quickly, yanking on another clean pair of Jon’s sweats. The last thing he needs is to get himself going before he even has breakfast—and anyway, he knows it would be basically impossible to get any relief on his own. 

He catches his own eye in the mirror and pauses, exhaling hard, trying to get his head on straight. He’s slightly flushed, which is to be expected. He’s also a little gaunt around the eyes and cheeks—probably not replacing enough calories, despite Lovett and Emily and Jon’s best efforts, given how many he’s been burning through. 

He looked much worse as a teenager. He remembers touching his ribs, his hip bones, suddenly oddly distinct through his skin. Trying to wet his cracked lips with an equally dry tongue. Eating and drinking every time his parents slid meals carefully into the room; then getting nauseous when another wave hit, throwing most of it back up. 

He’d never developed an appetite, and worse, his stomach had never really settled. He’d dropped several pounds. 

He’d tried to convince himself to feel _good_ about it, had even joked about it—no more nutterbutter Tommy! haha!—which in retrospect was really unhealthy and probably should’ve raised some red flags. Even at the time, beneath the jokes, he’d felt...gross. Not only had all his friends and classmates smelled his pre-heat scent, not only had they noticed that he was out of school for _two weeks_, but they could also literally see it on him—how heat had burned through his body—every time they looked at him. 

It’s like he’s seeing both bodies at once, in the mirror. 

Maybe he should find a shirt before he joins the others for breakfast. He’s still too warm, but does he really want them to see this? 

...This thought pattern is going nowhere good. And Tommy isn’t a terrified teenager anymore. It’s been twenty years. He likes to think he’s picked up some pretty decent coping skills in the meantime.

He looks away from the mirror, and—trying to be casual about it, failing—touches his own hip bones. His ribs. 

They feel like his regular old hip bones and ribs. 

Tommy valiantly does not slide his fingers down to his cunt, though he wants to. He keeps avoiding the mirror and splashes some cool water on his face. He stares at the wall while he runs a towel through his drippy hair one more time, and then he gets the fuck out of the bathroom, which is clearly bringing on his worst maudlin tendencies. 

To his surprise, Ronan is waiting for him at the edge of the bed, in clean sweats and a t-shirt. Tommy looks closer and, yep, those are Jon’s Holy Cross sweats. They’ve hit the very bottom of Jon’s sweats barrel. They’re going to have to do laundry soon if they want to keep wearing non-crunchy clothes. 

Alternatively, they could drop all pretense and just stop wearing clothes entirely. Just bend Tommy over and fuck him, wherever, whenever, however. 

....Tommy is quite feverish. 

“Hey,” Ronan says, after a pause. He must have smelled Tommy’s scent spike. 

“Uh, hey,” Tommy says, literally sweating. 

“We figured you might need a quick pick-me-up before breakfast,” Ronan says. “Given how many waves of heat you had yesterday.”

“I swear the four of you understand how my heat works better than I do,” Tommy says, delaying a little. 

“Oh, it’s definitely not me,” Ronan replies, laughing. “I’m playing catch-up. Emily made a spreadsheet before you came out for dinner last night.” 

“A spreadsheet,” Tommy repeats, simultaneously bemused and—_let’s face it_, he thinks—besotted. 

“It’s her love language,” Ronan jokes, and Tommy gives him a laugh. “You can look at it, if you want,” he adds. “She—uh, she shared it with all of us on Google Sheets.” 

“Are you fucking with me?” Tommy asks, really laughing now. 

“Nah,” Ronan smiles. “You know Emily.” 

“I do know Emily,” Tommy replies, his laughter petering out. He’s left with the undeniable sweetness of being known and cared for, which is quite a thing. 

“So,” Ronan continues, a little awkwardly, “you can go eat right away, or I can get somebody for you, or I can help you out.” 

Tommy can feel himself getting redder. He doesn’t know that he has ever negotiated having sex with somebody for the first time while standing across a room from one another, stone cold sober, looking one another full in the face. 

And Ronan’s face is—a lot. 

“I’ll get somebody? Jonathan?” Ronan says, after a moment. 

“No, no,” Tommy says. He sits with Ronan on the edge of the bed. “No, this is good. You—I want you,” he manages.

Ronan smiles. “I’m flattered,” he says. 

“Shut the fuck up, _I’m_ flattered,” Tommy replies, laughing a little, inching closer. He really wants to get his nose in Ronan’s throat, or between his legs, as soon as humanly possible. He holds off. He can hold a conversation like a normal human being. He _can_. 

“You said that I was a semi-functional human disaster at least twice last week; you can’t be _that_ flattered,” Ronan jokes. 

“You’re a semi-functional disaster _and_ I’m flattered,” Tommy says. “They are both true. Now, uh—can I—” he gestures weakly at Ronan. 

“Not sure what that means, but sure, go for it,” Ronan replies. “You can touch me.” 

Tommy promptly buries his face in Ronan’s throat and inhales, like he’s ten years old and huffing glue. Not that he’d huffed glue as a child. He hadn’t been _that_ stupid. But it’s really—very—he—

He loses the train of thought entirely, breathing hard, nuzzling closer, mindlessly running his lips and cheeks over Ronan’s throat, climbing half into his lap. 

Ronan pets slowly over his back. “It comes on so fast for you,” he murmurs. “What do you need?” 

“You—I—” Tommy tries to form words from this very very good spot against Ronan’s throat, but he can’t think at all with Ronan’s scent so thick around him. He sits back a bit, still half in Ronan’s lap. “I think I do—need it now. Right now. But I need food too, so let’s—um—” what should he even ask for? He spreads his legs further and grinds down on Ronan’s thigh, wanting all of it. 

“Keep it short and sweet?” Ronan fills in. His hands have settled on Tommy’s rocking hips, not guiding him, just feeling him move. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says. 

“My scent on you and my fist in you, maybe?” Ronan asks, plainly. “Would you like that?” 

“Fuck, yes, let’s, yes, yes,” Tommy replies, his whole body immediately going hotter. He climbs off Ronan just long enough to rip his sweats off—they’re not even _that_ gross yet—and then hops right back up, straddling his lap. He doesn’t want Ronan going—anywhere at all. He has to stay right here, with Tommy. 

“Okay,” Ronan murmurs, low and steady. “Come here,” and he guides Tommy down into a kiss. 

Tommy tries, but he can’t really hold it together—he’s mostly just panting into Ronan’s mouth, and grinding against his half-hard dick.

“You’re ready, huh?” Ronan says. “You’re burning up, and I can feel how wet you are already.” 

Tommy glances down. The Holy Cross sweats are now doomed. Ronan’s cock must be—covered in him, in his scent. _Fuck_. 

God, they really are going to run out of clothes at this rate. 

“Tommy?” Ronan says. He runs his hand up the inside of Tommy’s thigh slowly, watching him closely. “Yeah?” 

“_Uh huh_,” Tommy manages. 

Ronan grins, and slides two fingers into him, careful and easy. He curls them, once, twice, three times, making Tommy’s hips jump. 

He whines, rocking, trying to get them deeper. 

“More?” Ronan asks, and Tommy nods. “God, you’re so good,” he murmurs, and Tommy buries his face in Ronan’s throat, glutting himself on Ronan’s bright living scent. 

Ronan slips a third and then a fourth finger inside. He’s not moving them now, just letting Tommy ride his fingers. “That’s it,” he says right in Tommy’s ear. “Take what you need.” 

Tommy, well past words but needing more, grabs Ronan’s forearm and pulls a little. 

“I see what Jonathan means about your nonverbal communication,” Ronan teases, sweet. As he speaks, he tucks his thumb between his other fingers. 

He works his hand into Tommy slowly. His other hand has a firm grip on Tommy’s hip, not letting Tommy shove himself down. 

He leans up to kiss Tommy a few times, although Tommy can barely hold a kiss together and mostly just gasps and moans against Ronan’s lips.

Eventually, when he’s in Tommy to the wrist, he relaxes back so they’re just breathing in one another’s faces. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. He pulls at Tommy’s hip with his free hand, gentle—and it’s like Tommy’s body suddenly remembers that this can be _even better_, and then he’s lost to it, rocking on Ronan’s hand—loving the deep push of it when he sinks down, loving the stretch of it when he pulls back, loving Ronan’s scent getting denser and denser between them. 

Tommy can feel it building, as steadily as it ever has in heat, in his gut and his head and down the backs of his thighs. He’s so—so—

Tommy doesn’t even realize that he has slouched down, resting his forehead on Ronan’s shoulder, until Ronan deliberately turns and kisses the mark that Lovett had bit into his throat the night before. 

Tommy gasps hard, almost choking, and comes immediately, locking down around Ronan’s fist. 

“Oh, Tommy,” Ronan murmurs, and holds Tommy firm with his free arm so Tommy doesn’t shake himself right off Ronan’s lap. 

A minute later, the shivers die down. Tommy's forehead is on Ronan’s shoulder; his panting slowly evens out to deep breaths. 

“Back with me?” Ronan asks, his tight hold around Tommy’s back going loose. 

“Mmmhm,” Tommy hums. He’s still locked on Ronan’s fist. God, it’s so _good_ to have Ronan locked in him. He’s not moving a fucking _inch_ until Tommy is done with him. Tommy runs his open mouth over Ronan’s collarbone and then up one side of his throat, scent-marking him. 

“Tommy,” Ronan begins, sounding a little strangled. Ronan swallows hard—Tommy can feel Ronan’s throat moving against his mouth, which makes him moan—and tries again. “Tommy, I love your scent on me, but you’ve gotta—stop.” 

Tommy sits back abruptly, opening his mouth to apologize, but is cut off by the disconcerting sensation of Ronan’s hand shifting inside him. 

“Oh, sorry,” Ronan says, and moves like he’s going to withdraw, but Tommy puts a hand around his forearm. 

“Not yet,” Tommy says, a little weakly. “If—if you don’t mind.” 

“I don’t,” Ronan replies, and relaxes his arm. They pause, looking at one another a bit tentatively, feeling the way they’ve fit themselves together. “Come here?” Ronan asks, and Tommy leans down and kisses him. 

It starts out as a slow kiss, clearly intended to reassure, not to get Tommy going again—but it keeps getting deeper and hotter until Tommy is grinding down on Ronan’s fist, leaking wet all down his forearm. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t gonna—breakfast—_fuck_—” Tommy can’t finish the thought. Everything in his head is being crowded out by how Ronan is _in_ him, pushing him open, making him so fucking wet, making him _need_—_fuck_—

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Ronan murmurs. “You’re okay. Take what you need.” He adjusts his hand inside Tommy so it’s really a fist, wide and huge inside.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Tommy repeats mindlessly, and goes to absolute pieces in Ronan’s lap, coming so hard he blacks out a little. 

He comes back to himself with Ronan petting his hair and murmuring nonsense in his ear. “So good, so good, you’re so warm. Who knew you would be this sweet? So easy for us, Tommy.” 

Tommy moans, and instinctively goes to lick at Ronan’s throat again, but Ronan pulls him back by the hair. 

“Sorry to break the mood,” Ronan grimaces. “I wasn’t kidding before—I want Jonathan here if you’re going to be scent-marking me. I really like it, and I’m close enough to rut as it is.” 

Just the thought makes Tommy twitch around his fist again, aftershocks shooting through his gut. “Sorry, yes,” Tommy manages with his two remaining functional brain cells. “Okay.” 

Ronan smiles at him, and after a moment Tommy smiles back. 

“Breakfast?” Ronan asks. 

Tommy is reluctant to give up the sensation of a knot in him, and maybe even more reluctant to give up Ronan’s thick green scent, dense between their bodies. But Ronan’s stomach audibly growls, and Tommy’s follows. 

They laugh, the daze of sex breaking, and Tommy says, “Let’s eat.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings:  
\- past trauma comes up again!  
\- mention of vomiting (due to nausea, not on purpose)  
\- past internalized fatphobia (which the character recognizes in the present as unhealthy)  
\- present body dysmorphia (which the character copes with)
> 
> If you want to just skip all mentions of food, appetite, vomit, and body image, just stop at "He catches his own eye in the mirror" and CTRL + F for "Tommy valiantly does not".
> 
> * * *
> 
> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :) 


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